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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624983">Forged in Ice, Forged by Fire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/asojad/pseuds/asojad'>asojad</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Boatbaby (Game of Thrones), Daenerys Resurrection Week, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, Eventual Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, F/M, Game of Thrones Fix-It, Gen, Incest, Post-Canon Fix-It, Resurrection, Targaryen Restoration, Warg Jon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:55:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,364</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624983</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/asojad/pseuds/asojad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Reborn amidst salt and smoke, Daenerys rises again from the ashes. Death has paid for life, but the ghosts of the past are restless and must be confronted. The threat that loomed over Westeros was underestimated and undefeated. Reluctantly, Daenerys must work with former friends and bitter rivals to rise up against the growing void before it swallows the world whole. A story of forgiveness, balance and love, can they be found in the ashes and rise again, stronger than before?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Daenerys Targaryen &amp; Original Female Character(s), Daenerys Targaryen &amp; Original Male Character(s), Daenerys Targaryen &amp; Varys, Jon Snow &amp; Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Tyrion Lannister &amp; Daenerys Targaryen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>144</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>A Song Of Ice And Fire and Game Of Thrones, Game of Thrones</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Volantis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Forged in Ice, Forged by Fire</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">Chapter One</span>
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p><em>"Behold! A sign was promised, and now a sign is seen! Behold Lightbringer! Azor Ahai has come again! All hail the Warrior of Fire! All hail the Son of Fire!" - </em>Melisandre (A Clash of Kings)</p>
</blockquote><p><br/>Daenerys had marveled at the heat of her dragons when they were small, how they possessed a warmth all of their own, something she had felt through the stone of their eggs during her lonely and lost nights. Warmth had been an aspect of her core, a part of her from the beginning. The scalding baths, the leisurely weather of Meereen that had suited her, the dragon flames, they made up the woman she had become...or once was.</p><p>The blaze of R'hollor held no comfort for her. She was not cradled in fire by the blood of her ancestors, she was consumed and plucked from nothing by a flaming, uncaring hand. It was a conflagration, a stark contrast to the void she had been in before, but it was no less terrifying and consuming. Death had been indifferent, and so too was resurrection.</p><p>She woke on an altar near a great pyre, blood painted on her naked body, still stiff and numb from the touch of death. "The fire is life and the fire has granted life once more," Daenerys heard a voice say. A woman, one with a deep and echoing voice of authority. She commanded this resurrection as surely as she commanded her followers. "Praise R'hollor, bless us Lord of Light!"</p><p>A dribble of blood ran from the sigil painted between Daenerys's breasts, jolted by the beating of her heart. <em>'A sacrifice,'</em> she thought, a cold giant's hand seemed to grip around her body. <em>'They covered me in the sacrifice.'</em> Was it a man or woman, adult or child? She didn't want to consider it, and given what Ser Davos had said of the Red Woman in Westeros, the possibility was strong for both.</p><p>Before any other desire, thought or recognition flooded her, Daenerys rubbed at the blood coating her. The sigils smeared, but did not wipe away. She didn't want to feel what might be a child's life streaming over her. "Only death may pay for life," the woman murmured to her, reading her thoughts.</p><p>"Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt and Mother of Dragons, you are in Volantis and in the temple of the Lord of Light. You are in the presence of his priestesses, the true believers of the flame. It was your dragon who brought you here, following the guidance of R'hollor."</p><p>Her skin had become raw from her desperate hands, now stained crimson, even beneath her nails. <em>'There is blood on my hands already...'</em> the thought was unwanted and unbidden, memories only now racing back to her as the floodgates opened. Pain, sorrow, anguish, fury and hatred filled her in a rushing current. All of it had been held back before, not simply by death, but by something else...something she couldn't explain.</p><p>When she began to cry, to release what was building in her, a young priestess stepped forward and draped her in a red cloak. She was small and willowy with black hair, much younger than the Mother of Dragons and achingly similar to the handmaidens she once had among the Dothraki. Her leader was apparently indifferent to the sight before her, continuing to drone on about the will of R'hollor and how he stretched his hand into the void and plucked her back, showing his true strength. His champion was formed and claimed. It was nothing to her, words and inflections that fell deaf against her ears.</p><p>She wanted a bath, she wanted a bed, somewhere to shut out the sounds of screaming and the smell of flesh as a city burned beneath her. She heaved onto the altar, emptying her stomach, though there had been nothing in it. Only then did the head priestess give an actual reaction, flinching in disgust at the sight. She mumbled an order, telling the young girl to take Daenerys somewhere, a room that needed to be prepared. They would talk more when she was rested.</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>It took several days for the talk to come, and when it did, it was vague. The words were the same as before, that she had been brought back for a reason, that she was a champion of R'hollor and had a great battle to come. Her questions were brushed aside, telling her this was not the time to know. It seemed like an excuse to Daenerys, but she was too exhausted to protest or ask for more.</p><p>She could understand now why Jon had been reluctant to talk of his death. The after effects had scarred her worse than the blade mark on her body. Nightmares were always close at hand, jolting her awake in the night, covering her in a cold sweat. It was only Milk of the Poppy that let her sleep dreamlessly and peacefully.<br/>Everything felt strange. Taste was off, honey fingers no longer sweet and flavorful against her tongue. The smell of flowers was muted, becoming nothing more than wisps of smoke to her senses. When she touched Drogon or the silk dresses provided for her, they felt like charred flakes in her hand, warmth still missing against her skin.</p><p>She flinched every time she heard a child's shriek outside the temple, forgetting that there was a city and a world beyond the walls. Life was so close to her, but she could not seek it out or even watch it, her fear keeping her rooted in the shadows. She let her actions play in her mind, but not what came after. Jon was shut out, Tyrion was barred, Grey Worm and Missandei nothing more than shapes pressed against her heart. It was too much, more than one body could carry. Even as she did slowly let in the grief, some figures remained firmly locked away.</p><p>The resurrection took only a few hours, but coming back to life took much longer. For months, she walked and moved, but was an empty shell. By the fourth month, when she stepped into her scalding bath, she felt the heat prickle against her skin and the flush of warmth fully encompass her. Her relief was so palatable that she was weeping again, falling into the arms of the young priestess (who she now knew was named Sona.) She felt something again, truly felt it.</p><p>Winter was gone and maybe there was life beneath the frost.</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>It was more true than she realized. She knew the signs, but had ignored them, thinking it impossible, especially now that she had died and been returned as...something. Her moon's blood hadn't been something she could count on before, so its absence meant nothing. It was only when her breasts swelled and her belly grew that she understood and accepted the reality.</p><p>She hadn't simply been returned to life, she had been given the chance to give life. She was with child.</p><p>Of course, that meant that the one person she didn't want to think of could no longer be kept at a distance. Jon Snow was in her, growing and thriving. As much as she wanted to rend the memory of him and burn away the pain that still threatened her heart, she couldn't deny his presence.</p><p>"I hate him," she whispered to Sona, cradling her belly as the child stirred in her. "He called me his queen, he kissed me and held me and then he put a dagger in my heart. <em>I hate him</em>." There was a kick, followed by another. Sometimes it seemed as if there were two figures in her womb. Twins? Was that possible?</p><p>"My mother said love and hate are two sides of the same coin. You wouldn't feel one if you weren't capable of feeling the other."</p><p>"I know I can feel love-"</p><p>"You still blame yourself for what happened in King's Landing."</p><p>She was silent for a moment, shivering beneath her silk dress. "That wasn't love or hate."</p><p>"You're right, your grace." <em>'Your grace,'</em> was she even a queen anymore? "That was nothing."</p><p>"It was murder! Of course it was something! What I did-"</p><p>"You misunderstand me, your grace. I say it is nothing because that is what consumed you, it's what has consumed all of Westeros."</p><p>Daenerys watched her carefully, searching her face for something more. "Is that why I was brought back."</p><p>"This...this I cannot say. I do not yet have the gift to read the flames as the High Priestess can. I only know that the threat in Westeros is dire. The High Priestess never talked of the kingdoms across the sea, but now...it's all she speaks of. What is spreading, what is coming."</p><p>"What is coming?"</p><p>"Emptiness, death. You have seen it before, now it comes again."</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>The High Priestess must have heard of the conversation between Daenerys and Sona, for not long after, she moved Daenerys from the temple to a small manor nearby. There were high walls, ostensibly for a hidden garden, but it seemed more likely to be a cage. <em>'They won't call me one, but they're keeping me as a hostage until I agree to do what they want.'</em> They wanted a champion, but she was far from that. The Breaker of Chains was a past life, Daenerys only wanted to be a mother, alive and without threat in her life.</p><p>The twins were born during a clear night when the moon was at its brightest. It was so still that she could hear the leaves falling from the trees outside her window, even the crickets didn't dare to make a noise. Daenerys did, she howled into the darkness as she pushed one infant from her womb followed by another. She relished the pain, breathing through each wave that passed over her. Air filled her, agony echoed through her, it seemed like a fitting retribution.</p><p>That feeling didn't go away, even when the ordeal was over and the fruits of her labor were curled in her arms. There was more shame, fear and worry about what they would come to think of her. Her son and daughter, they would learn what she did in time, when they were old enough to understand. Would they call her 'the Mad Queen'? Would they recoil? It made her sick to consider.</p><p>If Jon were here-</p><p>The thought was buried quickly. He was why she was here, why she was alone. Now she had to look at the faces of her children, innocent of their father's crimes, yet still see his face in theirs. It was a painful reminder of what they might have had and what they were now forced to endure. Where was he now? Was he dead? Killed by her Unsullied? She suspected not, but his place was clearly not King's Landing. Apparently Bran Stark had seized the throne and Tyrion was at his side.</p><p>So why then? Why had Jon killed her? That one word was whispered again and again, sometimes to her children, sometimes to the moon, but most often to herself.</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>Before she had been moved, Sona had spoken of forgiveness, something that didn't merge well with the words of R'hollor. She would have to learn to forgive, if only a little, for the sake of her children. She learned what a monster her father was and that weight had pulled her down and colored the opinions of those around her. She wouldn't let her children be tainted by Jon Snow's kinslaying...or her murder of innocents.</p><p>She could at least begin with a kind gesture. Daeron, the Young Dragon; Jon had mentioned once that he idolized her ancestor when he was a boy, wishing to be a leader like the prince. If the name meant so much to Jon, then their son would carry it. There was no question that her daughter would be Rhaella. A piece of Jon, a piece of her, but overall the blood of the dragon.</p><p>***</p><p>A year passed and it seemed that was all the High Priestess was content to give. When one of her followers brought supplies to Daenerys or tended to her, they spoke about a coming battle not in the figurative, but as if it had a nearing date. Priestesses were being trained in battle magic and sacrifices were being chosen.<br/>Daenerys kept herself from gripping Daeron as he slept against her shoulder. "If she really wants to use me for some battle than sacrifice isn't about to convince me."</p><p>"They are happy to serve R'hollor."</p><p>"No sacrifice! If there's another, I'll leave with my children and dragon during the night and you lose your champion." It was the most she had committed to this battle, never intending before to play the role that was wanted. <em>'I'm a tool again, just like with Viserys and Khal Drogo. I'll be in chains like before.'</em></p><p>She hadn't been threatened to perform the part, but the more there was talk of sacrifice, the more she realized she had some form of leverage. Eventually, she would have to decide and the choice seemed clear. Better she bind herself for others than watching them be put to the flame. Slavers, priestesses, it didn't matter, they all possessed chains.</p><p>Her recovery was slow and it seemed that would be taken into account, though Daenerys suspected her acquiescence had at least allowed some measure of leeway and patience. Once she could walk, she was given exercises to rebuild her strength, and once strength returned, she faced Drogon again. It wasn't his rage or beast that shook her, it was her own. Looking at him, she might be looking at herself, the dragon she was in King's Landing.</p><p>Her fingers ran over his black and red scales, no longer smooth and shining but worn from wind and weather. He was still warm to touch, his pulse keeping time with hers. "What if I lose my control again? What if I- I become a dragon?"</p><p>Drogon only stared back at her in response, calm and unconcerned.</p><p>Toeing the remains of his meal with her foot, she found a small bone among the char, blackened and crumbling in her palm. It belonged to a goat, she knew that, but still...in this moment, it could be a child's. She gripped it tight in her hand, feeling parts of the bone crumble into dust, falling down the front of her dress and collecting on her boots. She let the that day fill her, the screams, the smells, the feeling of it all. She stared into the maw of her beast and waited to see her face reflected back at her.</p><p>Even as she wept, her mind drifted, remembering more than the destruction. There had been a curious weight about her, a prickling of something at the back of her mind. Had it been a hum? She couldn't really say, but she could recall it being stronger in Winterfell, where everything had begun to turn for the worst.<br/>Everyone had seemed different there. Tyrion, who had been astute when she first met him, slowly deteriorated over time. She assumed it was drink and loyalty to his family, but the level of change that came when they reached Westeros, then Winterfell and after...he wasn't himself. He saw her dragon's fire before as a useful tool, why suddenly the reversal of that when she faced Lannister soldiers after their slaughter of the Reach?</p><p>Varys as well, a man willing to use duplicitous and sometimes even heinous means to serve the realm, but he shuddered in the face of her temper, likely no different than Robert Baratheon's. He had been promising Fire and Blood in Meereen, but when they were on the shores of Westeros...he became a different man.<br/>Daenerys knelt in the remains, not caring if her dress was stained by mud or dried blood. Her hand opened and let the bone fall free. Looking back, she had felt as if she were seeing through two sets of eyes, her own and another's. Some of her actions and responses had been unnatural, far removed from what she felt in her heart. That day...that day, she couldn't remember making conscious decisions, only feeling as though she were being moved. She was a marker on the map, pushed by an unseen hand.</p><p>It took the breath out of her as she turned to look back at Drogon. "Emptiness. I was filled by emptiness."</p><p>Her dragon made no response, but the knowledge of it was enough. When she returned to her manor, she felt lighter in her step, accepting the warmth and the breeze as it mingled with the smell of the sea. There was no emptiness here, Westeros was the pit of it and so many heroes had been consumed.</p><p>She slept without the Milk of the Poppy, dreamless and deeply. Strangely, Sona was waiting for her when she woke, seated out in her garden. Wrapped in a linen dress, Daenerys hadn't bothered to braid her hair, letting it hang freely down her back. No talk of madness here with her in this state.</p><p>"What is it?" She asked on seeing hesitation in Sona's face.</p><p>"There is word, your grace."</p><p>"From Westeros?" Her heart seized involuntarily. "Jon?"</p><p>"No, from our shores. Last night, a ship docked in the harbor. The locals say it was manned by ghosts, they say it is cursed. No one goes near it and mean to leave the dead unburied and untouched."</p><p>"What's that to do with me?"</p><p>"There was only one crew member left alive on board, but the High Priestess said you would know the name, that it would mean something to you."</p><p>"And the name?"</p><p>"Stark. Arya Stark."</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>To be continued</strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Garden in Volantis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dany confronts painful memories and an old acquaintance from the past. What is west of Westeros and what is the secret of Winterfell and the source of past conflict?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter 2</span>
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p><em>"A long time ago, she remembered her father saying that when the cold wind blows the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. He had it all backwards. Arya, the lone wolf, still lived, but the wolves of the pack had been taken and slain and skinned."</em> - Arya (A Feast for Crows)</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>The girl was in a similar state to the ship, both were hollow shells, ragged and worn from tortuous seas. It was a miracle the ship had sailed at all, the holes in the bow should have been enough to drag them down to the depths, large enough for a child to fit through, barely covered by rotting boards. Yet still, somehow it was afloat. Beneath her feet, on the deck of the ship, she could hear water in the levels below. There was a sick groaning, a warning that it might all collapse, but even as she moved and the waves jostled the ship, it held firm.</p><p>None of her attendants followed her on board, preferring to stay on the docks with the other city dwellers. Whispers of ghosts and curses would meet her when she disembarked, she was certain of it. Just the look in their eyes made it clear they thought she was mad to step foot aboard. <em>Mad</em>. She must be if she was venturing alone, unarmed to meet the youngest Stark girl. The last that she was in her presence, she and Sansa had barely masked their hostility and contempt. She had never been as direct with it as Sansa had, but there had been cruelty there.</p><p>She hesitated, lingering by the mass as her eyes searched for the familiar figure. She was near the wheel, tightly holding it as she hunched over the ground. Her frame was smaller and leaner than before, not the well fed warrior that she had seen, but near skeletal. Her hair was longer, unkempt and stringy, barely held together in a bun. Her clothes must have been fine leather once, but so much had been torn away that there was only a small strip of it around her neck and shoulders. Her linen undershirt was mostly visible, faded by sun and stained by sweat.</p><p>There was a brief glimmer of relief and revelry in Daenerys. Looking at the shadow of the girl she had known at Winterfell, it almost felt like revenge. She hated to admit that she had considered telling the Priestesses to feed Arya to Drogon or use her to their liking. She had imagined plunging the dagger Jon had used into Arya's breast and sending her remains to Winterfell.</p><p>But that was only a whisper and it was gone in her next breath.</p><p>Slowly, she moved to Arya, her guard still raised and uncertain if the Starkling would be wild or in control of her senses. The closer she came, the stronger the smell was of death. Only as she stood over Arya's shoulder did she see the source. Carved onto the bow was a large symbol that Dany didn't recognize. It was ancient magic, not of the North and not of R'hollor.</p><p>There were bones embedded in the shape, pieces of the crew used to ward the ship. At one place was a femur, at another was a hip bone and another was a piece of a jaw. Somehow they were still in place despite storms and other adversities. The carving wasn't faded or worn, it looked as though it had been recently etched, but given the state of Arya's hands, it didn't seem likely she did it herself.</p><p>Her skin was sallow and thin, burned from being so long under the sun. It was easy to imagine that if she tried to wield a dagger now, her palms would tear under her grip. Carving onto thick wood would require more strength than Arya clearly possessed.</p><p>Her face tilted up towards Dany, eyes seeing, but not absorbing. Again, the instinct came to strike her, to kick her, to do something to relieve herself of the pain, but her body remained still. For all that Arya had been and done, she had never been violent to Daenerys. Cruelty might be returned with cruelty, but until that came, she could only feel pity and sadness.</p><p>"You were brought back." Arya's voice was hoarse and strained, her lips cracked and bleeding from dehydration. Without thinking, Dany knelt and offered the water skin that was strapped to her side. Arya nearly grabbed it from her hands, but doubled over from the effort, wheezing in an effort to catch her breath.</p><p>With help from Dany, she was able to pour the water on her lips and in her mouth, but whatever managed to go down was quick to come back up again. "Arya, you shouldn't be alive."</p><p>"Neither should you." A hint of a smile was on her lips, even as she struggled to sit up. "You make the third resurrection I've seen and everyone with their heads."</p><p>Her skin was hot to the touch, yet Arya still shook violently beneath her clothes. A quick decision was needed, as there was no one else in the city who would dare to take care of her. Daenerys pulled Arya to her feet, holding firm to her as she wobbled under her weight. After a few steps, it was clear she couldn't continue on her own, so Daenerys scooped her in her arms and carried her off the ship. In her current state, a child might have been able to do this, but they, much like all the others on the docks backed away.</p><p>"If you won't help me than summon a healer, otherwise we'll have another ghost on that ship."</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>Arya was housed in a separate part of the manor, kept away from the twins where she wouldn't be able to hear them with any luck. Not that it mattered greatly. For the first two weeks, she was in a state of delirium, slipping between the realms of nightmares and reality. The fever had a firm hold on her and she had been barely able to take anything, even broth. Three different healers told Daenerys to ready her for the afterlife, but still Arya held on tenaciously.</p><p>The fever broke by the third week and slowly the broth started to have an effect, adding some fat to her bones and bringing back color to her cheeks. The terrors still continued during the night. Often, Dany would wake hearing the girl screaming: "I'm no one! A girl is no one!" Other times, there were names, many of them ones that Daenerys did not wish to hear. Eventually, it became the one word that had echoed through Daenerys's heart, even when she became a woman grown. "Mother."</p><p>She slept for most of the days, being stirred awake only by the smell of food or the jostle of one of Dany's attendants as she was cleaned. There was a small sense of peace with it. As Daenerys grew used to having Arya so close, she became less vigilant about the children. She didn't race when they cried, afraid that their aunt would hear and ask questions she didn't want to answer. She didn't need to keep them inside, but let them play in the garden while she watched. There wasn't any risk about being stumbled upon.</p><p>It was why Daenerys had felt comfortable enough to visit Drogon on her own. Her children had their nurse and Arya would likely sleep for another day. Since her arrival, Daenerys had limited her visits to Drogon, keeping at a distance as she slowly built her courage and strength back. Flight would have to wait a time, and she was not adverse to that thought. Somehow being in the sky again, it might be like looking down on King's Landing once more.</p><p>Thoughts about when and if she could again were fresh in her mind as she returned home. The silence wasn't unexpected, but the figure in her bedroom was. Somewhere in the time that she had gone, Arya had managed to get to her feet and wander the manor, eventually ambling into Dany's room. </p><p>The twins had been put down for a nap and were curled together in the crib, Daeron whimpered in his sleep as Rhaella frowned and clenched her fist tightly. There was a fuzz of hair on Daeron's hair, silver and so light, it nearly blended with his scalp. Rhaella had been born with curls, dark and black like a Northerner's.</p><p>"She has wolf blood," Arya's expression was hard to read. Her eyes never left the twins, even as she staggered and regained her balance. "That's what my father said Lyanna had."</p><p>"I think she was always kicking me. She was the harder one to birth."</p><p>"I didn't think I would be an aunt...I didn't think I would be anything." She was lost in her thoughts again, the nightmares still breathing down her spine. "I could hear them in my sleep."</p><p>"How do you feel?"</p><p>"Don't ask me that. I don't know where to start. Everything feels..."</p><p>"Muted. Numb." There was warmth in her eyes and voice, it was enough to raise Arya's head. "It was a stupid question."</p><p>Her voice was strained, "It's not stupid." She glanced down at her body, wrapped in an unfamiliar nightdress and recently washed. "Are you fattening me up for your dragon?"</p><p>"You could be as big as Lady Brienne and you would still only be a meager meal."</p><p>Arya was still for a moment, long enough that Daenerys feared she had said the wrong thing, but the sudden rustle of Arya's shoulders beneath her night shirt made it clear that some emotion had escaped. She was grinning, framed by her hair, almost obscuring the tears that slipped from her eyes. "I won't have to watch what I eat then?"</p><p>All that could be done was laugh, not simply at a feeble attempt at a joke, but at the reality they were in. Knowing without knowing, having been clasped by death in a way that the Others hadn't managed. The pressure, the animosity, the absence of everything fell in on itself and could only be released by a scream. Howls of laughter seemed the better option.</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>Later in the gardens, Arya spoke about what happened.</p><p>"Our ship was named 'the Maiden's Favor'. It was enough like Elissa Farman's ship to make me think that we had some luck on our side. Sailing to Braavos had been nothing, but that was the Narrow Sea. It's not the same West of Westeros. They never talk about that in the books or histories, not enough.</p><p>"There were storms, but nothing worse than White Harbor or King's Landing might have. The crew were in good spirits and when we found the three islands Elissa Farman had named, we thought it would continue to be easy. we had enough supplies and the skies were clear by then.</p><p>We got far, far enough that Rickon...Rickon might have said we were going to fall over the side of the world. He said things like that when he was young...I did too once. Sometimes Old Nan would tell us stories about the monsters in the sea and he'd cry, but Bran and I would keep pushing her to tell us more. I thought she made it up, I thought she made up White Walkers too. I should have known.</p><p>The water turned darker the further we sailed from the islands. There were more storms, but these were worse and with rougher winds. Some of the men fell overboard, the rest tied themselves to the railings where they were manning their stations. We lost food, barrels of water, that was most of our stores. The waves got so high, when they pulled back, we dropped in the air. It was almost like a giant tossing us between his hands.</p><p>The worst of the storm brought something else too. The men said there was something creeping along sides, long like vines but slippery and smooth like an eel. It kept growing until it was holding firm to the ship. When we hacked at it, there was this loud shriek and then it rose from the water.</p><p>A kraken. I didn't think they were real. When Theon talked about them, he talked in the same way he did about Iron Islanders. I thought he was just puffing his chest, but it's worse than he said. It was bigger than our ship and it's eyes were yellow and the size of me. It broke the hull and the bow of started to crack. We used what we could, but it wasn't until we shot at it with flaming arrows that it started to pull back. One of the men, Harold, he lit one of the tar barrels on fire and kicked it into the side of the kraken. Harold the Kraken Killer, not that he'll ever get to hear the name. It pulled him down with it.</p><p>We turned back towards the islands, but the storms didn't let up. The winds and waves kept tossing us. When we reached the shore, there was only a handful of the crew left. There was someone on the docks to greet us, a man from Asshai. We never really saw his face, he kept it covered by a hood, but he said that he make certain we were taken to a safe harbor. We wouldn't need repairs, everything he needed was on board.</p><p>Gods, what did I agree to? I didn't know. I wanted to get away from the West and go anywhere else. I told him to do what was needed and then went below to sleep. When I woke up, the sail had been lowered and we were heading to the East past Westeros, but no one else was around. I called for Captain Martyn, Big George and the rest, but there was nothing. The ship kept straight and didn't lose momentum, even without anyone at the wheel.</p><p>When I went to take control, that's when I saw... He said he had everything he needed on board, but I didn't think. Syrio told me to see and I thought that I learned how. After everything that happened, after all of the death, why is this the one that destroyed me? I can still see my brother's men being slaughtered at the Twins, I can still hear Ice swinging down towards my father's neck, but the sight of the bones in that shape...it's scarred on me now.</p><p>I told Gendry that I knew death and death had many faces, this one is the one he keeps hidden under his hood and it's the worst one of all."</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>Arya spent most of her days under the fig tree in the gardens, listening to the wind and watching the sun move across the sky. They each found comfort in small ways, the heat was as familiar to Arya as it had been for Daenerys. Slowly, it was what drew her back to some form of animation as well. She always moved to make room for Daenerys when she came to check on her, letting her sit at her side.</p><p>Some days, anguish was written on her face as she broke the silence with one prevalent thought: "I'm the reason those men died. It's my fault." On others, she was contemplative and calm like still water. "I tried to become No One, but I couldn't forget Arya Stark. I thought I found her again when I left for Winterfell, but she wasn't there either. I lost her somewhere."</p><p>"How many wars were you facing? You never had the chance to catch your breath. You went from one battle and bloodshed to another." It was a wheel that kept turning, not only for her but for Daenerys as well. "Winterfell, that was a place of faces and names, but the person inside didn't belong to themselves."</p><p>Arya stared at Daenerys, her mouth slipping open in surprise. "Gods, that's right. I keep thinking back to when I went home. I used to want nothing else and then when I got there, it's like I was looking at them through an ice wall."</p><p>"Then I'm not wrong? The things said and done by all of us, they almost belonged to another person."</p><p>"Not almost. I told Sansa that I would carve her face off and be the new Lady of Winterfell. I wanted Gendry to be my family once, but I turned own his betrothal. I said to Jon-" she broke off, analyzing Daenerys for a moment before quickly saying, "I made him feel like he wasn't part of our family."</p><p>The betrayal still managed to sting, a sharp piercing to her heart. "When did the changes start for you?"</p><p>"Braavos. No, wait. When I sailed back from Braavos. Winterfell was where it was strongest."</p><p>"Why Winterfell?" There were stories of the Old Gods, things that Jorah had said that made it seem that Winterfell was special. It had been another keep to her until Jon had come to Dragonstone and made his appeal. Behind the walls, there was nothing truly remarkable about it. It was old, its stones sang with history, but so much was being rebuilt and repaired. It was a keep that had come out of two different wars, facing a third. If there was magic there, it belonged to the Old Gods and paid no mind to her Targaryen blood. "I thought I was mad."</p><p>
  <em>'I thought I went truly mad.'</em>
</p><p>"You weren't the sort before who would burn a city. You might say it, but threats are words and words are wind." Her gaze was on Dany, refusing to let her retreat back into silence and guilt. She was a lone figure standing against a behemoth, the monster of memories, but she didn't flinch. She stared into the maw and pulled Daenerys with her. "I had a list of names of those I wanted to kill. Some I did, some I couldn't. Nowhere on the list was the male line of House Frey, but I killed them anyway and baked them into pies."</p><p>She said it so casually, but when Arya's arm brushed against Daenerys's, she could feel the chill on her skin.</p><p>"Arya-"</p><p>"Everything is clearer here, so still."</p><p>This girl had been forged in adversity, as Dany had been formed in flame. One battle to the next, she moved forward, but for the first time, she could remain in place. Still, silent, and serene.</p><p>
  <em>'That isn't my future, but I can give this to Arya.'</em>
</p><p>"They'll want you to go back, the priestesses."</p><p>"I know."</p><p>"When you do, you have to find him. He needs to know."</p><p>She didn't need his name. There was one harbor they shared, one star they sailed by. All roads would inevitably return to him.</p><p>
  <strong>To be continued</strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Haunted Forest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jon suffers the consequences of his actions. The stories of his past come to life and the threat over Westeros becomes more clear.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">Chapter 3</span>
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p><em>"The gift was strong in Snow, but the youth was untaught, still fighting his nature when he should have gloried in it."</em> - Varamyr (A Dance with Dragons)</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>The Haunted Forest, now home to another Ghost. Jon had drifted there, slowly peeling away from the Freefolk that had gone back to their nomadic bands. Splinters had broken off, camping closer to the Wall, while others had braved the shadows of previous wars and returned to their old hunting grounds. Tormund got it in his head to travel to Skirling Pass and hunt for shadowcats. By that point, Jon had fair well decided that he would go his own way. Though whether he told the Freefolk this or simply left, he couldn't really say.</p><p>He couldn't remember much of the past year. There were images, echoes of events and things he said in his time beyond the Wall, but none had made a lasting enough impression on his heart. Going through the motions would keep him alive, but only as a living shell.</p><p>It wasn't a conscious decision to return to an area that had served as a major backdrop of his life. While he didn't venture further south than beneath the Antler River, he knew he was only a few leagues away from Craster's Keep. Sometimes, if the wind blew in the right direction, he could still smell smoke and rotted wood, slowly decaying under a layer of frost and cold. There were groves of Weirwood trees, older than the one he had taken his first oath before, all weeping sanguinary sap and shuddering with every shifting of the breeze. The silence was better company than men, he was not expected to speak and he didn't need to see looks of pity or concern in their faces.</p><p>The Weirwoods stared at him with cold indifference and aloof disinterest. He had always known that the Old Gods were not as loving or paternal as the New, but that better served men of the North. When winter came, warmth dimmed to nothing more than a gasping ember.</p><p>In those early months, he might have survived better if he had shut his mind to her, obscuring his moonlight and leaving his remaining days with an overcast, but that seemed as wrong a betrayal as his actions. Shutting away Daenerys was to imply that she was insignificant enough that he could forget. It was as much a lie as his life had been, and would only repeat the past, veiling the true nature of his heart as his mother's had been shrouded. He didn't think much of Lyanna or Rhaegar anymore, only of Daenerys. She haunted him, followed him, rended him of feeling and desire. It was a better punishment than he was given. Beyond the Wall, he had too much freedom. They might have considered this a prison for him, but he found other ways to fly.</p><p>The first time was an accident. While he had small wolf dreams before, it wasn't until his first week that he pulled on the skin of another. One of the Freefolk had tamed a hawk during the journey North. During the night, it had torn away from its handler and took to the sky. While normally it would return at dawn with a few gifts from its hunt, the hawk never came back. Jon had kept his silence. He had seen for miles, back towards the Wall and Molestown below it. He had felt his feathers shift and tickle as he changed trajectory and swooped in the hunt. He would never speak of the blood he tasted on his tongue or the feeling of satisfaction when his talons tore into a lone dove's chest.</p><p>They were his secrets to keep.</p><p>The dreams became stronger after that, sometimes happening in the day, while he was hunting or scavenging in the woods. His eyes would shift and suddenly he was in another's skin, more often Ghost's, and padding through the snow. When he woke, he always found himself kneeling or lying in the drift, his gaze directed at the sky.</p><p>It was a better way to live. The more he was out of his body, the more he could remove himself from the pain. It was a similar feeling to the abyss of Milk of the Poppy, something he experienced after the fire in Lord Commander Mormont's chamber, when he had burned his hand fighting his first wight. He wanted to drown in that emptiness, but always found his way back to the waking world and the memories that grew louder as the months passed.</p><p>It was a knife in his heart, thrust over and over again, each time dawn crawled over the snow. Another day was passing, pulling him further and further away from the moment when Daenerys was last in his arms, when her warmth had colored his days and allowed him the only peace he had ever known. All roads had lead to Daenerys and with one push of his hand, there was a yawning valley between them. Life and nothing, there was no crossing that bridge until time and nature deemed him fit.</p><p>It was only when he was inhabiting Ghost that he could think more clearly. There were no lies to cloak a wolf, they looked at the world in direct and straightforward terms. Hunt, eat, fight, survive. Pretty truths didn't serve them and only acted as a shield for men. In his wolf dreams, his life became much more transparent and easier to swallow. His decisions, his actions, those he would weigh on his heart and bear the guilt for, but the rest, the battle that seemed to be continuous since his return from the dead, he would not accept another man's crimes.</p><p>
  <em>'Kinslayer, murderer, man without honor. Aye, I'll carry that. I held the blade, but it wasn't my weight behind it. That was his.'</em>
</p><p>With these abilities awakened, he knew what was done to him. He understood the feeling of two consciousness inhabiting one body. His will had been pushed down into the back of his mind, until he could only act as a passenger as his body, mind and tongue were manipulated for someone else's purpose. He didn't need to ask who, he could still hear his voice in his head during the night, pulling at him, calling him, still reaching with invisible fingers and seeking something in his memories.</p><p>It seemed to get worse with time, more often attempts at invading his body or peering into his thoughts. Bran's presence was overwhelming and suffocated the soul, if Jon had any left that was his own. The only relief and freedom was in Ghost, but it was no better than what was being done to him, even if he sensed his wolf didn't mind.</p><p>In this madness, Jon had begun to see a figure in the creeping hours of morning or twilight. The creature was small, keeping to the trees and peering around to watch him. He could catch the smell of it on the air, the scent of bark damp from the rain. It was nearly obscured by the foliage, leaves woven into its hair and cloak. Whenever he neared as Ghost, it disappeared into the grove and wouldn't come out until his guard was lowered. Each time, a pair of golden eyes, slit like a cat's, watching him and judging him.</p><p>He had sins to account for, but the Old Gods never bothered with those. Merit came in how one could serve their cause, and it was clear he was not ready yet to be deemed a friend or adversary. For now, he would have to accept the shadow and wait for the trial to be finished.</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>His head was already aching when he reached the banks of the Antler River. Early light whispered over the ice, moving the drifts of snow with delicate fingers. It was an elegant dance he was used to, but one that that only served to add further pain. The sound of drift and the sprinkle of light was enough to make his head feel as if it was caving in on itself.</p><p>Jon hadn't bothered to move into Ghost the night before, spending sleepless hours trying to mentally reinforce the walls of his consciousness. He was barricading himself in, a hasty defense for the siege that seemed endless. That pressure gnawed at his back, whispered words calling for him, calling his name, but still behind a barred door. He was losing, his energy was being quickly expended in keeping the force out, exhausting what strength he had. More and more, he turned away from food and drink, focusing entirely on keeping his thoughts, his will in place, not wanting to wander far lest he never be able to return.</p><p>It was dangerous to venture from his camp, well aware that he wouldn't be able to raise his sword or protect himself from predators. Ghost had pushed into him, encouraging him silently to lean on his weight. It was the wolf that lead him to the river and it was the wolf he trusted to guide him. When finally he collapsed in the snow, the small creature he had seen was at his side, standing over him and staring down curiously into his face.</p><p>Its skin was nut brown, dappled with pale deer spots. Its ears were large and its hands consisted only of three fingers and a thumb. Where nails belonged, it only had long black claws. He was right in his guess that it had leaves woven into its hair. Long vines of blood red Weirwood leaves cascaded down, a deluge of tears from the Old Gods. The creature was small, but quick, having moved over the snow without a sound, as rapid and swift as Ghost. It seemed to be thinking, searching for something in its mind before finally it spoke the Common Tongue:</p><p>"On your feet and follow me, skinchanger. This is your last night."</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>Halfway between the river and the Fist of the First Men, Jon's strength gave out. The Child of the Forest was too small to carry him, so it was Ghost that bore him on his back. Snow covered him, freezing his hair to his cheeks and neck. His cloak was damp by the time they reached the gnarled Weirwood tree overlooking the place where they had found the dragonglass daggers and forgotten horn. It was still a fair distance away, but if he peered up and stared towards the hillside, he could almost see Sam and the rest of them, young and and green, still not anointed with their first battle or true knowledge of the Dead.</p><p>"You need let go of your wolf for this." The Child broke his thoughts, pointing to a small hole beneath the gnarled roots of the massive tree. It would fit beneath with no trouble, but it would mean wiggling from Jon and leaving some of his gear behind. Cloak and outer armor were stripped off and left in a pile, with as much energy as he could muster, he pulled through the small hole. The roots were there to help him, acting as rails for him to drag himself with, unyielding and firm in their place. At last, he wormed his way through the small cavern, emerging deep underground where the heavy aroma of soil and age greeted him.</p><p>When his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see how wide the expanse was. Roots twisted and covered the walls, stretching across the soil in a twisting maze of tunnels. There was space to move, but he would need to stoop and crawl every few feet, unless he wanted to smack his face into another barricade. The Child pulled him along, further in until they were at the center of the maze. Scattered throughout were a number of other Children of the Forest, many with red or green eyes, entangled in the roots and near buried in the ground. They didn't seem to see him, staring instead off into the distance, watching, but not watching. He could sense the Old Gods in their presence, the same feeling he always had when he stood in front of the Weirwood. These were the eyes of the trees, what lay beneath the empty holes carved centuries ago.</p><p>"They will not answer you if you speak, skinchanger. They are gifting me the Common Tongue or else you would not understand me."</p><p>"They're Greenseers?"</p><p>The Child nodded as a few others, free and untangled, joined them, wrapping Jon in a cloak of vines and leaves, helping him to warm himself again. "There are others, but their groves are being destroyed. We were safe once, hidden near the Wall where your kind were too blinded to see them. Men think only of what is before them, that which resides on the surface. They never thought we were near, dwelling where they were, buried beneath their feet. He knows though, the Other knows and he has been using his tools to dig us out, burning the trees and destroying our links."</p><p>Its hand curled around a large root protectively, a child burrowing into their father. The Child whispered in his natural tongue, the sound of boughs rustling filled the cavern. When it spoke again, Jon could hear the words. "Greenseers give themselves over to the trees, their lives are joined. They cannot move as you do, skinchanger. They live in the passages of time and travel this way, neither forward nor back. Without the giants and more of our kind, they will die off until there are no more and memory is forgotten."</p><p>That was a concept that took him back to when the night was darkness and winter was outside their door. "The Night King is dead."</p><p>"You pulled the shrub, not the root."</p><p>It was like a vice tightening around his throat. The horrors of Hardhome were never far from him. All he needed was to think of the Night King raising his hand and the thousands of eyes opening, once various colors, but suddenly a piercing blue, and a bolt of panic would run up his spine. The freezing cold of the White Walkers would be at his skin again, stealing his breath and shattering his steely resolve with one touch. The battle had never ended for him, but he didn't imagine it was literal.</p><p>"No, I saw it myself. I was there in Winterfell when he was killed. He shattered in the Godswood and his army collapsed with him. The Night King is dead. There's nothing left of him!" He scrambled, searching for anything that would take away the panic bubbling in his throat. "It was about the Three Eyed Raven, Bran..."</p><p>There was a condescending smile in the Child's eyes. "He is your Three Eyed Raven," he pointed to a larger child, nearly obscured by the roots. "So is she," a frail girl clasped onto the branches, cradled like an infant in its grasp. "As is she," there was another at the far back, barely covered at all, but her feet were planted into the side of the bark. A small root was twisted near her eye, poking at the corner. "They are the three eyed bears, the three eyed wolves and three eyed crows that many others see. They guide the others of their kind to the groves and give them the paste of the Weirwood, teaching him the ways that men have forgotten. If the Night King wanted the Three Eyed Raven dead, why did he leave the rest alive?"</p><p>Jon staggered until his back was against the wall. Twigs and rocks were embedded within, poking at his shoulder with accusatory fingers. <em>'Fool! Idiot! You believed so easily and why? Why?'</em></p><p>Because he was Bran. He was older, he wasn't small or innocent anymore, but it was still Bran that warned him of the Night King's plans and told him what he should do.</p><p>"Bran. He said-"</p><p>"Why do you call him that, skinchanger? When did you see your brother in him?"</p><p>"He's still Bran. I-" his throat was dry, catching the soil in the air as he struggled to take a breath. He coughed, sinking to the ground both out of need and desperation. "He looked like Bran."</p><p>"What did I say of your kind? Those of your blood follow our Gods, why do you only focus on the boughs of the tree? The roots carry power."</p><p>They accepted so much of what Bran had said without objection, protest or need for proof. They followed his advice, believed the truths he shared and let him steer them into whatever position he wanted. Even his presence in Jon's mind, his control and power, Jon had accepted that. Both Sansa and Arya had done things for revenge, dark actions fueled by grief and anger. Jon had assumed that Bran's possession of his mind was part of that. It wasn't feeding Ramsay Bolton to his hounds or the slaughter of House Frey, but it was no different in its impact or inhumanity.</p><p>The Child didn't let him linger on these thoughts for long. "He is coming closer and your life runs short. Another week, another day perhaps, you would be no different than the red girl or the small man at his side. You would be like the giant that carried him."</p><p>"You should have left me where I was." The words were quick in his mind, racing free before he could think.</p><p>"There is no choice when it comes to the gods, skinchanger. There is only what we must do." One of the Child's companions offered out a wooden bowl, freshly carved and filled with paste. There were lines of red strewn within the white, veins of sap or blood, the difference wasn't that strong in this light. "Drink and we can begin."</p><p>"I'm no greenseer."</p><p>"A poor one you would be with how little you truly see. Your mind is giving out and its your true nature we mean to sharpen." Still Jon didn't take the bowl. "Death has been so easy for you to find, if you wished it. If there is no fight in you, skinchanger, then take that. Ah- no, you think you are in judgement and living is your punishment."</p><p>"Stop. You don't know me because you've seen through some trees. It wasn't the Old Gods that brought me back."</p><p>The Child's face darkened. "We do not speak of the Red God. The two were not content with their own war, first the False Seven and now the True Gods are pulled under. It does not matter who claims to have brought you back, only that your bear the gift and the blood. Embrace nothing or come back to life, skinchanger. The choice is done with your Moon Maid."</p><p>He stared down at the paste, watching it shift under the Child's movements, the red sap becoming more of a swirl than a vein. He could almost hear it, thrumming like a heartbeat, in the paste, in the walls and in the root. It surrounded him and closed in.</p><p>Daenerys. He couldn't say why the thought of her made him accept and swallow the paste. Most likely it was courage, but the mention of her was enough to push him into action. If whatever was in Bran made him kill Dany, learning what the Children wanted would keep the creature out. It was some form of revenge, some form of justice.</p><p>"Ask your question, skinchanger. Now you will learn."</p><p>"If Bran isn't the Three Eyed Raven...what is he?"</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>To be continued</strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Volantis and Eastwatch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Daenerys learns of the threat she is to face and the true enemy is revealed. Dany must fly to Eastwatch and find Jon Snow, the Long Night continues and the enemy only grows stronger.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter 4</span>
</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p><em>"Death is his domain, the dead his soldiers."</em> - Melisandre (A Dance with Dragons)</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>The wind was against their back as Drogon drifted closer to the sea, never flying too high or as agile as before. Whether it was age or an instinctual awareness of her fears, Drogon was delicate. It didn't make the act of flying any easier. The moment she climbed on his back, memories rushed to her, drawn by vulnerability and unease. There were the screams again, but overall there was the smell. The nightmares had passed, but still this stain in her mind wouldn't abate, made worse by Drogon's presence and her Targaryen magic. She was meant to fly on his back, but human trauma could not be easily removed.</p><p>Arya was with her, the stillness and heaviness of the night usually unnerved her, but she had braved the darkness to see Daenerys off. Wrapped in one of Dany's cloaks, she appeared almost elegant, far removed from the wild girl she had seen in Winterfell. Her hair was even growing long again, braided in Dothraki style with flowers interwoven. The change suited her, as did the flush of womanhood. If she had been gangly and awkward in her youth, there was no sign of it now. Arya was sheer loveliness.</p><p>"It will take you a month to fly to Eastwatch. Are you sure Drogon can manage the full journey?" There was doubt in Arya's tone. It had taken time but Drogon finally allowed her to come close, only occasionally snorting at her with distaste. It was a blow to Arya, who confessed her love of Targaryen history in a hushed and reverent voice. It was likely the reason why she refused to follow Dany back to Westeros, at least for now.</p><p>"He made the full flight before after all that happened. He should be able to again. There are places we can rest, if need be."</p><p>"You'll be recognized and from the sound of it, Bran is searching for him. Once you get closer, he'll know you're still alive."</p><p>"Word had to reach him by now, if his powers have grown as much as the priestesses say." The pain on Arya's face was not easily concealed, even in the darkness. Dany understood well what it was to realize a brother was a lost cause. "You still call him Bran, even knowing what we do?"</p><p>"I-" she bit her lower lip, already worried red and raw from the difficult meeting with the priestess. "He still looks like Bran, still talks like Bran. I can't believe he isn't there. He has to be, <em>somewhere</em> in there."</p><p>Dany nodded, but didn't feel as sure. Wordlessly, she climbed onto Drogon, her knees still a bit weak from lack of use. "I don't know where you should send word if you find Grey Worm and the rest of my men. Sansa would never welcome me in Winterfell and I'll have no allies. Dragonstone is too close to King's Landing."</p><p>"I'll find a way. If I have to send a raven to the Night's Watch, I'll do that. Whatever happens, I'll make sure he sails for Eastwatch."</p><p>Their goodbye had been silent, a simple head nod and Drogon had lifted into the air and soared towards the Narrow Sea. For all they had shared together, neither seemed to eager to acknowledge this as a parting, merely a temporary separation until they could meet again. It would be easier to face what was to come with Arya at her side. Seeing Jon, confronting the past, the battle that had never stopped. The War for the Dawn continued and the Great Other had only grown stronger.</p><p>***</p><p>"There are only two true gods," the head priestess had intoned solemnly, her lined face only seeming more severe against the sunlight. "R'hollor and the Great Other. Theirs is a constant battle, a war between light and dark, life and death."</p><p>She had arrived at Daenerys's villa unannounced, intruding in the gardens without warning or permission. The walls seemed taller next to her, more foreboding and suffocating than before. Even the sun had lost some of its luster, unable to compare to the flickering ember that was her ruby choker. She likely had been beautiful once, but fire had a way of ravaging the soul and it seemed hers had been charred long ago.</p><p>The head priestess had tried to intimidate Arya back into the house, wanting a private meeting with Daenerys instead, but the Dragon Queen wouldn't budge on the matter. "Arya is my trusted councillor. Whatever you have to tell me, it involves her. Either you speak to us both or you leave." This was apparently a minor enough battle that it could be left at that, the priestess acquiesced with a simple grunt of annoyance.</p><p>"I cannot speak for the practices of the false gods of the North, but what claimed to be the Three Eyed Raven is nothing more than the embodiment of the Great Other, cold, darkness and death incarnate."</p><p>"I don't understand," Arya sputtered, a marigold fluttering from her hair to her lap. "Bran said he was the Three Eyed Raven."</p><p>"I imagine he did. There were a great many lies he told and you see where those lies lead him. He is named king now with several agents at his side. Those he manipulated and controlled for his personal uses have shattered wills, they are nothing more than shells, mindlessly following him as the wights followed the Night King." She met Dany's eyes, intense and pointed. "He has always been the harshest slaver in this world."</p><p>Her stomach lurched, remembering the speech she had given on the steps of King's Landing, how the ashes and darkness hadn't moved her, only the thrill of another war and more bloodshed. Her embers had been stoked and her baser instincts had surged to life, apparently manipulated by Bran's unseen hand. No, not Bran, this Great Other.</p><p>Dany's hands clenched at her side, "You are saying that what happened to us starting at Winterfell was done by the Great Other?"</p><p>"It is magic from the barbarous gods, the false ones of the North. These were Bran's natural abilities, but since he has been taken over, they are now free for the Great Other to use." Another snort of derision. "I cannot say how this happened, but it must have occurred somewhere in the North."</p><p>Arya chewed at her lower lip, a spot of blood against her pinkened mouth. "Bran had a mark on his arm. He said that was how the Night King tracked him-"</p><p>"That does match what I have seen in the flames. I saw the boy surrounded by an army of wights and the Night King reaching for his arm. It must have been the moment the connection was made." There was no emotion in her voice as the priestess said, "Your brother died in that cave."</p><p>Dany reached for Arya's hand, letting her grip as tightly as she needed. If she noticed any distress, the priestess ignored it. "You were spared, Mother of Dragons because you are a champion of R'hollor, as is Jon Snow."</p><p>"I heard your prophecy, but it was meaningless. We failed to kill the Night King, it was Arya who did it. She ended the Long Night."</p><p>"The Long Night never ended, foolish girl! It continues and grows longer! All that was done was the Great Other's champion was destroyed. It is no different than when the head of your Queensguard was killed. Did that end your reign? No, it only momentarily weakened you. The Night King served his purpose, but the Great Other thrives. Westeros is under his control and the minds of its people are open for him. He watches and listens through them, his power now comes from them. The more he uses them, the more man is destroyed until nothing is left. Nothing is his goal, nothing is his state. The Long Night is not simply an absence of light, it's an absence of life, memory and existence."</p><p>A cricket had started singing not far from them, but the sound was almost distant to Dany's ears. "What can I do? I don't worship R'hollor."</p><p>"That does not matter, you act in his name, as does Jon Snow. Regardless if he surrounds himself with the magic of the barbarous gods, creatures of sacrifice."</p><p>Arya's skin flushed, "That's a load of horse shit coming from you. The North hasn't sacrificed to the Old Gods for thousands of years, but your priestesses still put people to the flame! How are we barbarous compared to that?"</p><p>"We are the light, we are the way-"</p><p>"Enough, both of you. We're not here to argue about philosophy. This doesn't help me decide what to do."</p><p>"I know what you must do, Mother of Dragons. You must lead an army of my priests to Westeros, seize King's Landing with fire and fury as before and destroy the Great Other once and for all."</p><p>***</p><p>It wasn't a plan either girl was eager to accept. Once the priestess had gone, apparently to prepare her men, Dany and Arya had retreated to the master bedroom, the only place that could ensure privacy and quiet. Given that the villa had belonged to the temple, it was likely the servants were agents of the priestess as well. She certainly seemed well aware of what Daenerys was doing and Arya's personality.</p><p>"If you take the priests, all they're going to do is burn the smallfolk as sacrifice. They might even try to use your children. The Red Woman was always talking about the power of King's Blood."</p><p>"It's either the priestesses try to use them or the Great Other tries to harm them. I can't take them with me to Westeros...but if I leave them here, they'll be vulnerable." Her fingers brushed the side of their cradle, idly rocking it even without their presence inside. They were in the kitchen with their nurse, thankfully far away from this discussion.</p><p>"I'll stay with them."</p><p>It was a great sacrifice from both of them. The idea of leaving her children, so young and still suckling at her breast made her heart ache. It would be like a longing wolf howl in the night. The distance between them might as well be from ground to moon. Her milk would go dry again, just as it had after Rhaego, unused and far too early for her body's liking. It was a great risk for both her children and herself. She might never return, they could catch sick without her knowing. She had seen from Mirri Maz Duur has easily life could be taken and what its value could be worth. </p><p>Arya ducked her head, catching Daenerys's eyes. "You're doing what's best for them."</p><p>"Why doesn't it feel like it is?"</p><p>"You have to do this. Otherwise, are they ever going to be safe?"</p><p>History repeating history. Another childhood on the run from assassins and hidden blades. No, she couldn't let that happen. Not again.</p><p>"Swear to me you will guard them with your life."</p><p>"Dany...I swear. They're my family too. I won't let them be used or hurt by anyone."</p><p>Of course, the full weight of what Arya was giving up slowly became clear. </p><p>"Arya...don't you want to go home? I can't do this without you."</p><p>Her teeth went to her lip again, "I'm not ready yet. After Winterfell and the ship...I have to find Arya Stark again. I lost her somewhere, but when I find her, I'll come to Westeros and you'll have my sword. Besides, you need someone here. If you're not taking the priests, which you shouldn't, you'll need an army."</p><p>Grey Worm. She hadn't seen him in so long. There had been no word on him and the priestesses didn't seem to care enough to look for him. How could she face the Long Night without him? Without her bloodriders, what was left of them? "No, you're right. I can't take the priests. If I sail with them, I'll be beholden to them. I'm not going to be controlled. It makes them no better than what Bran has become."</p><p>"It means you can't trust anyone."</p><p>"I've been in that situation before." What she hated most was where she had to go and who she had to find. "Eastwatch then. It seems the better place to start looking for him."</p><p>Arya reached for her hand, "He deserves to know about you and the children." The hope in her eyes was a distant feeling to Dany, she couldn't remember the last time it was in her. "Even if he wasn't whatever the priestesses think you both are, you'll still need him."</p><p>"I know." She didn't have the luxury of not being ready. More and more, she was being thrust back into the cold, the howling winds.</p><p>***</p><p>Eastwatch was no different than when she last saw it. Whatever damage the Wall suffered, it had been repaired quickly, far more than should be possible in this amount of time. The lack of sorch marks and evidence of dragonflame was a bitter sting to Daenerys; the loss of Viserion as fresh in her heart as when she witnessed him fall from the sky. From how pristine the Wall looked, it was almost as if he had never existed.</p><p>As Drogon lowered to the ground, a figure grew larger in the distance. For a moment, she thought it was Jon. The man's dark hair was unbound and wild. Wrapped in furs, he looked no different than Jon had during his mission to capture a wight. But as the distance shortened, it was clear that the man was more burly and stocky. He was a Wildling, that much she could tell, but his face was unfamiliar to her. He was more serious looking than Tormund, carrying a measure of gravity that seemed to match her own.</p><p>"Daenerys Targaryen. I'm Bjorlaf. The Children of the Forest have been waiting for your arrival. I've been instructed to take you to them."</p><p>"So long as you mean no harm, we could take Drogon-"</p><p>"You'll have to leave your dragon here. It'll be impossible for him to pass the Wall." His voice lowered as he stepped close. "The old magic has been corrupted. He knows them now and he's using them against us. The Wall once kept the Others out, now it's being used to protect their home. The Land of Always Winter."</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>To be continued</strong>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Beyond the Wall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jon and Daenerys meet again. Old wounds are not so easy to forget or forgive.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter 5</span>
</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p><em>"It seems to me that a queen who trusts no one is as foolish as a queen who trusts everyone."</em> - Daenerys (A Song of Swords)</p>
  <p><em>"Tyrion Lannister had claimed that most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it, but Jon was done with denials. He was who he was; Jon Snow, bastard and oathbreaker, motherless, friendless, and damned. For the rest of his life—however long that might be—he would be condemned to be an outsider, the silent man standing in the shadows who dares not speak his true name."</em> - Jon Snow (A Game of Thrones)</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p><br/>Drogon had taken to the sky as she passed through Eastwatch, uncertain where he would go, but well aware that it wasn't safe for him to remain in the open. Her strength was peeled away as his figure grew distant. From the beginning, her dragons had given her courage and seen her through the early nights of her marriage. In readying to see Jon Snow, she had assumed that she would have Drogon at her side, acting as her shield. Staring down at her former lover from the giant's back would be the same show of power she had used when he arrived in her throne room. Imposing, foreboding, it would be a different image than the hopeful girl in his arms, desperately kissing him as he slid his blade into her breast.</p><p>The wind was harsh for a moment, striking her face with a mixture of snow and ice. Passing through the unmanned section of the Wall, it was almost like stepping back into the vision of the House of the Undying. The only dragon in the distance was her nephew and the threat wasn't being forced to remain so magic may stay strong, it was...perhaps him? Herself? She feared it all, seeing him, facing his reaction and her own, loving him and hating him altogether. He had always raised complex emotions in her. Sometimes, when she was at his side, it was like having two beings in the same body, not a far cry from whatever Bran had done, but this feeling was more natural and inevitable. Two halves making up the same whole. That possessed power though, power to know her, to understand her and slip past her defenses.</p><p>But had they really known each other? When had the manipulations begun? The man that Jon changed into was a far cry from the one she had met before, as she no doubt seemed to him. Did love still exist in circumstances when they couldn't recognize each other anymore? Death apparently did and still could.</p><p>Bjorlaf gave her arm an insistent tug. She had stopped while in the middle of her thoughts, a small figure set against a deserted courtyard. There were crows, a few perched not far away from the gate that lead beneath the Wall. Pulling his bow from his back, Bjorlaf stepped in front of Dany, urging her to keep behind him as they awkwardly moved beneath them. She didn't ask what he was afraid of. The way the crows were watching them, it was obvious they were acting as sentries, replacing the shadows that had occupied this place before.</p><p>The crows shifted, letting their feathers flutter against the wind. Their movements were almost a threat, teasing whether they were planning to fly at them or stay in place. Keeping them dangling in the space of uncertainty and fear seemed more amusing. As Bjorlaf shut the gate behind them, their caws echoed, a harsh screech against the growing flurries. She didn't need to be guided, she was near running to reach the other side before any of the birds could fly over and follow them.</p><p>"Another month and it would be men that we would be facing, lady." The Wildling took the lead, letting his stocky form block the worst of the snow from her. While she had dressed in furs, more reminiscent of the Freefolk she had known, it didn't ease the cold and seemed to grow stiff next to her skin, frozen from the wet gale. "The Night's Watch still keeps to their orders."</p><p>"If what you say is true, then their orders changed. Even I heard stories across the Narrow Sea about how the North guards the realms of men." The books Jorah had given her, folk stories and legends involving the Wall. Where were those books now? If she could have one, it would be a talisman of luck, some sort of beacon to remind herself of the woman she was and the dreams she once possessed.</p><p>"My people called them crows and now they're no different than the birds. They watch and report. Anyone who approaches the Wall, they'll attack. North or south, it doesn't matter what direction, this realm is guarded."</p><p>"I thought Bran let the Wildlings go North of the Wall?"</p><p>"He needs an army and there are fair amount of small willed men among them. From here out, lady, bear that in mind. Any man can be his soldier or his sentry. You feel that clawing at your mind?"</p><p>"Yes, it's louder than I remember."</p><p>"Your fire priests give you something to guard yourself with?"</p><p>"No, I left before they could begin planning."</p><p>"That was stupid, lady. A week you've got, maybe. Unless the Children of the Forest decide to help you."</p><p>"I thought they sent you to me?"</p><p>"Oh they did, but that doesn't mean they will see you. You're marked by the fire god. They won't trust you none."</p><p>She had to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. "The fire priests feel the same for them."</p><p>"Fire priests or tree gods, they're all fighting the same fight, lady. Remember who the enemy is."</p><p>There were several points in their journey that he stopped and listened to the wind. He never traveled in a straight path, leading her around sometimes in a circle before pushing forward. It didn't surprise her when he chose the more hazardous path, drawing her along the cliff side or guiding her through a cave, only to come out the other side in waist deep water. It was better she hadn't worn her white furs, they would be ruined by the end of this.</p><p>The Haunted Forest was apparently a short distance from the Wall, but the way they had come had added half a day on their journey. Once they stepped into the thick of the forest, she was too exhausted and stiff to think about fear or dread at seeing Jon. That would come. The density of the forest dulled the sounds around her, heightening their steps over the snow drifts or when a branch broke under the weight of the frost. Each of her thoughts echoed and reverberated against her heart, slowly knocking it free from its numb resignation. She could feel him in the distance, even without seeing his figure. There was a thread between them, now suddenly pulled taut, dragging her closer and closer to what she had so desperately wanted to forget.</p><p>"Lady, I must leave you here."</p><p><em>Of course he did</em>. "Thank you." She might not feel very grateful to be here, but she wouldn't ignore the risk Bjornalf had been placed in. "Where will you go?"</p><p>"Where some of my tribe set camp. We occupy the smaller groves further North. The Night's Watch has started attacking and burning them. If I'm gone too long, mine's at risk."</p><p>"Go quickly then. I won't forget your kindness."</p><p>"Just don't let it influence you, lady. Remember, you can't know who to trust going forward."</p><p>***</p><p>She stepped into the thicket of the forest as the wind seemed to pick up. Leaves fluttered around her like a million heartbeats, a few spots of red drifting to the snow. He was next to a large Weirwood tree, dressed in a cloak made of the vines and leaves. His black hair was down, longer than she remembered it and his beard more scraggly than before. He was thin under the makeshift cloak, scarred and ragged from the year that passed. His look was as haunted as the wood's namesake, his dark eyes sunken from strain and lack of sleep. He wasn't a king striding into her keep, demanding her help. He was a ghost of the forest.</p><p>They stared at each other with solemn looks, letting the forest speak for them as it moved and groaned under a growing storm. The distance between them felt so narrow, even as they stood several feet apart. She could swear, even as the trees shook around them, she could hear his heart against the wind.</p><p>"You came out of this better than I did." Despite the quip, his voice was thick with emotion. He made a move, taking a step and Dany instinctively hopped back, throwing up her hands to protect herself. His eyes were pained at the response, but he didn't shift again.</p><p>"I don't have the luxury of wallowing."</p><p>He nodded, well aware he deserved that. "They said you were coming."</p><p>"Everyone seems to know my decisions before I even came back." She was bitter and didn't hide it from her tone. Once again, she wished she could be on Drogon's back. It would be satisfying to loom over him again, to let her dragon speak for her. His bellowing roars were her screams, pulled from the depths of her chest. She wanted to cry until she was ragged and raw, anything to alleviate the pressure in her chest. She wanted to slap, kick, beat him. She wanted to shake him and beg for some reason, some explanation beyond what they were given. She wanted to know <em>why</em>. <em>Why</em> had they been destroyed? Shouldn't they be stronger than some god of nothing? Stronger than his family and all the other forces that meant to pull them apart, at least.</p><p>She wanted to sink in the snow and curl in on herself, protecting the vulnerable places he could reach both physically and emotionally. She wanted to retreat and fly back to Volantis, to both Arya and her children, where this seemed like a distant thought rather than a reality. Instead, she was forced to look in his face and feel no satisfaction in his suffering, yet no comfort in his regret.</p><p>"Nothing," she sighed, shutting her eyes as a tear spilled over the curve of her cheek. "I don't feel anything."</p><p>"I know."</p><p>"You hurt me."</p><p>"I did and myself."</p><p>That didn't make it any better.</p><p>"I want to hate you. I do hate you." And she loved him. She loved him enough that it could still hurt her, no matter if she died and came back. He was marked on her. "It was easier to be dead."</p><p>"Maybe, but that nothing was worse than this."</p><p>"Is it? It's emptiness, not existing."</p><p>"I'm not a philosopher, Dany. I can't talk as well as-" Tyrion flashed to mind, but the look she gave him stopped him from saying his name. "I only know that having the hope of feeling something keeps me going. It's what I held to after I was brought back."</p><p>"I forget sometimes you have that experience. You hide it well, what it does to you."</p><p>"I hide everything. I had to learn how when I was a boy."</p><p>She listened to the surge of the wind. "I suppose even the trees anticipate the spring." Which felt trite to say, but somehow a little comforting. Was that what his House's words meant? Maybe it wasn't as dark as she first assumed. If winter came, inevitably, a spring would follow.</p><p>His sword had been leaning against a nearby tree. As she mused, he reached for it and tossed it at her feet. He sank to his knees in a move of supplication and submission. She knew what he meant even before he spoke. "I broke my vow to you. I killed my family. It doesn't matter if I pushed the blade or Bran did, I'll still bear responsibility for it. You have the right to pass punishment."</p><p>Her teeth grit in response, her cheeks turning hot. "You know I can't! We were both told enough times that we need each other to know I can't take your head." Whatever the Children of the Forest told him, it couldn't be far different than what she heard. "That's a meaningless gesture, Jon Snow."</p><p>"What do you want then?"</p><p>She scoffed, "I should be asking that. You should have been the one to come to Volantis and begged me to come help. You should be the one making this journey, telling me how Westeros and the rest of the world needs us. It should be you asking."</p><p>"I did, once before. You see how well that turned out."</p><p>Even her anger didn't have much of an outlet. She couldn't kill him, punish him or fully hate him. She couldn't even scream, not with the risk of being tracked. She could only her rage percolate, letting it out in small bursts of steam.</p><p>"<em>Dany</em>, I'm sorry. I <em>swear</em> that I am." Words are wind, words are wind, but that meant little to her, even as she tried to remind herself of what Arya said. Sometimes they were meant and sometimes even when they were small, they still had an effect.</p><p>She pressed her palms to her eyes, sinking slowly as well, both of them kneeling in the snow. "I want to know why. Why couldn't it stay the way it was on the ship? Why did this happen to us?"</p><p>He shook his head, looking up into the sky. Fat flakes fell against his curls, speckling him with the winter that they never seemed able to escape. "Emptiness was stronger."</p><p>"Is it? Then why don't we still feel it?" He had no response for that. "I'm afraid of what I did. If you have blood on your hands, I have a city's worth. I don't know how to fight what he made me do."</p><p>"Dany-" his hand reached for her, but when he saw her flinch again, he let it fall to his side. "I can't say I understand all of this or what Bran has become. I know that the surest way to defeat a stronger army is breaking it apart and weakening the two halves."</p><p>"You know more than that," she murmured.</p><p>"Maybe I do. Not many would say so."</p><p>"If you were so foolish, you wouldn't have sought me out to begin with. If we're stronger together, than you knew it before anyone else." She couldn't remember that pulling at her mind until she and Jon had started to fall in love. Bran must not have anticipated that, for all of his ability. Or were some things more inevitable than emptiness?</p><p>"You've always seen things better than I do, more clearly."</p><p>"Not this." She shivered against her furs. "I don't see a way forward."</p><p>"I don't think there is one."</p><p>"Pessimist."</p><p>They shared a smile as the wind slowed, a distant howling slowly becoming louder. "What is that?" She asked. "Ghost?"</p><p>"No," he frowned, getting to his feet as he reached for his sword. "The Children have sentries of their own outside of the forest. Something must be coming."</p><p>She searched the sky for Drogon, looking for her sword and shield, before remembering that it was impossible for him to come to her. "What is it?"</p><p>"It looks like men from the Night's Watch."</p><p>"Do you know them?"</p><p>"I don't think that matters anymore." He pulled off his cloak and quickly unsheathed his sword. The sound of bare steel should frighten her, but instead she drifted towards Jon's side, staring at the growing figures, black and looming on their horses. It was four men, young and strong from the look of them. There were crows at their back, screeching through the woods, as though it were an attack against the trees.</p><p>The men dismounted and pulled their blades. Not a word was given as they charged forward towards the pair, three targeting Jon as the largest swung his ax at Daenerys. She only had time to see Longclaw come up and block the three swords. It was a brief glimpse of steel meeting steel before she was rolling out of the way, feeling the gust of iron pass near her head. Dany stumbled back to her feet, putting her back to a tree as she searched for some means to protect herself. Jon's eyes flicked to her. Quick as he could, he kicked one of the men back, striking his arm with a loud <em>CRACK</em>. The man's sword flew from his grasp, clattering onto the ground. The other two tried to defend their friend, slashing at Jon in time, but he managed to parry both blows in rapid succession.</p><p>She had little time to marvel at his skill, instead bolting forward to grab the weapon from the snow. She held it up in time to meet the ax, her arms nearly buckling against the weight of her opponent. The bald headed man glowered down at her, his eyes nothing more than black cesspools, an emptiness in them that she only knew before as death. A stream of drool fell from the side of his mouth, freezing before it hit the snow.</p><p>Mimicking Jon before, she kicked at the man, hitting him in his shin and staggering him enough to let her move. There was the sound of flesh being torn. She glanced towards Jon in fear, only to see the thinnest of his opponents fall, black blood arching against the air. The other two were quick on their feet, slashing and hacking at him, less with skill and more with adrenaline and fury. His side was caught in the fray, a large gash appearing over his hip. She gave a cry, trying to move towards him, but the bullish man blocked her path.</p><p>The howl grew louder in the forest, wet against the breeze and hungry. As her opponent knocked her into a tree, her breath pulled from her, she saw streaks of gray, black and white darting out of the shadows. Something large hurled itself as the man, pushing him into the snow before tearing at his throat. It was a direwolf, as large as Ghost, but speckled with gray and white. She staggered, seeing two more join their brother as they ripped her opponent apart.</p><p>Dany struggled to her feet, her body feeling like a weight trying to sink her back down. Her eyes dragged towards Jon, her chest tight at the thought of his state. But he was pulling away as well, the two men who attacked them now under the fangs of three shadowcats. There was a bear nearby as well, lifting to his back feet as he watched Jon and Dany with an impatient gaze. Then, with a loud roar, the creature charged towards the final opponent with the broken arm, smacking him across his face.</p><p>Jon didn't wait, he grabbed Dany's arm and started to run. "The Children are buying us time." There was pain in his voice, but he didn't stumble or wince, pulling her along as though he were at full strength. "We need to go now!"</p><p>"Go? Where?"</p><p>"We have to get south of the Wall and past the North. We can't stop."</p><p>There wasn't much argument from her. She gripped his hand and raced in the direction of Eastwatch.</p><p> </p><p>
  <br/>
  <strong>To be continued</strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The North</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Trust is difficult to come by, but Daenerys and Jon must learn if they are going to survive in enemy territory. The North is a different place under the reign of Queen Sansa and the Three Eyed Raven. Remember the words: "Be careful who you trust" and keep moving.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Six</span>
</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><em>"The north is hard and cold, and has no mercy."</em> - Ned Stark (A Storm of Swords)</p>
  <p><em>"They say those northmen are a savage folk, and their woods are full of wolves."</em> - John the Fiddler (The Mystery Knight)</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>Their's was the pathway of ghosts, at least in Jon's mind. Castle Black was staffed, more than any of the other castles set up along the Wall. Most were decrepit, having long ago been abandoned as membership had dwindled in the Night's Watch. Jon had done his best to spread his men, leaving no vulnerable spot for enemies to exploit, but either Bran didn't have enough recruits for this or he didn't feel he needed it. Oversight or confidence, Jon would accept the gift. It was a longer journey to Sentinel Stand, but it was the best route to take. Once they slipped through the dilapidated castle (damp from mold and ice, heavy with shadows and specters), it would be a series of mountains and keeping west of the King's Road and Winterfell. It would be near a month before they reached the Neck, but dragonback was too dangerous to consider and two on foot would be harder to find than if they were in the sky; the raven's domain.</p><p>Daenerys, for her part, kept any complaints to herself. When viewing the mountains they would have to scale, she simply pursed her lips and followed Jon's lead, stepping where he stepped, watching to see where the best footholds were and where she should grab. The cold was worse along the coast, the Bay of Ice aptly named. In an effort to try and ease the sting of the wind and snow, Jon paused on one of the slopes and pointed across the water.</p><p>"Bear Island. You can see it from here."</p><p>Her face softened as she turned to stare at the horizon. For the most part, she had kept a small distance from him, drawing back any time he faced her or had to retrace his steps. He hadn't pushed his luck, leaving her to her space. Now at least, she let him move a little closer.</p><p>"You can make out the green from the trees," he offered.</p><p>Her breath curled in the air, matching and joining the clouds around them, thick and heavy with snow. "I should have sent him home while I was in the North. After so long in Essos, he should have had the chance to see it again. He said he always imagined it."</p><p>She knew better than any of them what it meant to see home. His longings for Winterfell had at least memories to draw from. She had never seen Dragonstone before arriving or King's Landing until...until Bran. Jon's eyes scanned the sky, watching for any birds of prey or animals that Bran might have sent scouting, but there was nothing, an expanse of white that beamed brightly under the moonlight, even at half overcast. Without question or prompting, Daenerys adapted to the hours he set, traveling at night and resting until after sunset. It was an almost instinctual response, gauging Jon's thoughts and reasoning and adopting it for herself. It was either learned from the guide that the Children sent her or she simply understood him, either answer ensured survival, but only one offered a glimmer of warmth.</p><p>"Who is Lord of Bear Island now?"</p><p>He considered it, drawing on Maester Luwin's lessons on genealogy and Houses. "One of his cousins, I think. A daughter of Alysane Mormont, maybe?" It had been so long since he had been a part of this world, anything south of the Wall seemed foreign now. "A number of the Lordships have changed hands supposedly. The Forresters are completely gone and I think Wolfswood has been given to one of the petty swordsmen from the Vale. What I've learned, I've learned from the Children."</p><p>Silver tufts of hair swept over her face as the wind shifted. She held his gaze, riveting him in place. He didn't dare move or breathe, afraid to spook her. "The Children didn't want to see me?"</p><p>"You-" he searched his thoughts, looking for the right words. "They think you're marked by the Red God."</p><p>"And you're not?"</p><p>"You're a Targaryen-" he saw the protest in her eyes, "A <em>true</em> Targaryen. I have more of my mother in me, her people, their ways." He didn't like this subject of who was a true dragon and who wasn't. It made his stomach knot, tensing his muscles as he continued up the slope. His boots were nearly worn thin, having been exhausted three peaks ago. He had no cloak and his gloves were near useless, several tears had begun to form along the seams. They would need new clothes, especially once they neared Wolfswood.</p><p>One of the stones he used to pull himself up nearly came loose under her grip. Before she could slip, he whipped around and grabbed her arm, easing her up as she recovered her footing. "You are as much my brother's as Lyanna's." She snapped, wrenching her arm free when she was on stable ground. "You never gave me the chance to tell you of him or of our House. You listened to everyone else and let their paranoia poison you! You didn't even know what it was to be a Targaryen or a part of my family! Gods, Jon. <em>I</em> was your family too, but did only the Starks matter?"</p><p>He took a step back, feeling the force of her words. "Not all of it was my doing, Dany."</p><p>"Some of it was. Some of it was us."</p><p>She wasn't wrong. There were moments in the past where he couldn't be sure Bran had made him do something, guided him to that situation or if it had been his honest desire. Pulling away from her, that had been his mistake, but he couldn't feel sorry for that. Not for needing time to sort the matter in his head, even if the rest had been stolen by Bran.</p><p>"I deserve your anger."</p><p>It was the wrong thing to say. It seemed to deflate her rage and pain, draining her of the desire. It wasn't any comfort to scream at someone who wouldn't feel or hear it, he understood that. That was why he had simply accepted Sansa's apology and swallowed everything else. If he wanted an outlet for those emotions, it was easier to take it out on himself.</p><p>"Dany-"</p><p>"Don't call me that." The tear that had slipped from the corner of her eye froze on her cheek, a small speck of starlight against the snow. "Not anymore."</p><p>He nodded and buried whatever it was he was going to say. It didn't seem important anymore.</p><p>***</p><p>The expanse of mountains were at their back, but the journey was not even half done. Wolfswood would act as their cloak, the vast forest nearly obscuring the entire sky. There would be beasts, but birds at least would be find it more difficult to find them. The rest could be chased by Ghost, already far ahead of them and leaving a trail for Jon to follow. What he managed to learn from the Children had sharpened the bond between wolf and man. He could control when and where he skinchanged, as well as the pressure of Bran trying to claw back into his mind. It was almost as though the timber walls had been reinforced with stone. So long as he was aware and strong, he could withstand Bran's attempted invasions. He was no greenseer, no matter how much they tried to find the ability in him. He didn't feel charged or connected to Weirwoods by the blood, but he could sense their pull and felt safer near them. When he and Dany rested, he relied on them to keep watch during the day, able to sense at least which were used by the Children and which had been "infected" (as they said) by Bran's magic. It at least allowed him a road to follow and a destination to keep in mind.</p><p>A number of the villages in Wolfswood were abandoned or recently destroyed, many having been burned to the ground. Half buried under the snow, he and Daenerys found several banners for various Houses. More often, they found Manderly and their lesser bannermen. On occasion, there was House Ryswell and House Tallhart, but many of the others were either newly formed or inconsequential in comparison. Most disturbing were the fields that had clearly been salted or the women that had been left half naked and gutted at the thresholds of their homes. There were remnants of children's toys and clothes, but no sign of their bodies. The slaughter matched that of the Lannisters or Boltons, simply without the sadism, not that it made much of a difference in Jon's mind.</p><p>"Your sister is Queen, isn't she? Why doesn't she put a stop to this?" He expected bitterness at the mention of Sansa, but it seemed to simply be disgust at the carnage around them. "How is it that we find House Manderly at every raid?"</p><p>He couldn't answer the first, but the latter: "House Manderly controls White Harbor. They have always been one of the most wealthy Houses of the North, but now without the Karstarks and Umbers, there isn't anyone to dispute them. Without the Vale, Sansa would have to rely on them for aid and strength. House Glover might contest their power, but they won't venture this far west. They don't have the resources."</p><p>She stared at him again, searching his face for some sort of answer. "You know so much of the North and the system of power, but you let your sister have all of the authority. Why? You were raised by these men, you were taught to lead-"</p><p>"I wasn't a trueborn son-"</p><p>"You weren't a trueborn son of House Stark, but they still named you King, Jon. You were chosen to lead, but you let your sister assume the crown, even in your presence."</p><p>"I know my mistakes."</p><p>"How can you not be angry about this? You always say you're sorry and you know what you've done wrong. Where is your fight?"</p><p>They watched each other, a heavy silence settling around them as the dead were covered once more with a light dusting of snow. His clothes had dampened and frozen over during the journey only to be dampened again under the growing storm. One of the cottages at least seemed to still remain largely undisturbed. The animals had been slaughtered and their destroyed pelts were left. The garden had been raided and salted and there seemed to be signs where soldiers had tried to burn the thatched roof, but the flames must have died quickly. "We need new clothes."</p><p>"Jon!"</p><p>"I'm trying to keep us <em>alive</em>, Daenerys. Whatever fight or argument you're looking for, I'm not giving you. You're not going to find anger with me." He paused in the doorway of the cottage, gripping the siding as he turned back to her. "It's impossible for me to be angry near you...you make me calm."</p><p>He stomped down his shame and regret at his words as he rooted through the cottage, finding leathers, boots and cloaks. He never had much need for coin, but there was still some on him from his journey to the Wall from King's Landing. Out of a sense of obligation, he left a few on the table. No one would be coming home to claim it, but maybe their ghosts would know his gratitude. When he emerged, Dany's expression had softened. There was a rare pair of corpses, an elderly couple, holding firm to each other. Daenerys had broken the branch where they had been hanging and covered their bodies with her white coat. Once the brunt of the storm hit, they would be fully buried beneath white. She looked up at him with sad eyes, filled with regret, apology and pain at their surroundings.</p><p>"That might have been us."</p><p>He swallowed the lump in his throat, glancing between the couple and the woman he loved.</p><p>"You're trying to keep us alive," she murmured. "It does no good to fight."</p><p>He offered out the small bundle to Daenerys, letting her have first pick, praying she didn't see his hands tremble. "You're going to have to dress as a boy. Bran's scouts will be looking for a woman." He pulled a roll of bandages from his pocket. "You need this too." It slipped from his fingers and toppled in the snow, becoming partial unrolled. He scrambled to pick it up and wipe the snow from the cloth.</p><p>She hesitated, looking decidedly uncomfortable.</p><p>"No," he was quick to clarify, sensing her thoughts, "for your hair. It will keep anything from coming loose under your cap." He stepped aside for her, letting her make use of the cottage while he used the cramped stables.</p><p>She made a better sight than he did. Leather tunics didn't exactly highlight shapes or curves, but he could still see her round hips and a small swell of her breasts beneath. Maybe he instinctively searched for it, much to his shame. Even with her hair tucked away, her face was exquisite and pale, making her look as if she had been sculpted from ice. A moon maiden, that was what the Children called her and she seemed to be nothing more than a glimmer of that soft light. Ragged cloaks and too large boots couldn't hide it, she was beautiful even set against ruins.</p><p>"You never said where we are headed."</p><p>"You never asked me."</p><p>She smiled genuinely, a mist of pink forming across her cheeks. Had his staring made her blush? It was hard to say with her now. He could predict her thoughts when it came to this journey and survival, but what she felt with him, it was still a barrier he couldn't penetrate.</p><p>"Here," he tossed a sword towards her, not about to move close with a blade. "Before we rest everyday, I'm going to train you how to use that. If there's another attack like before, you need to know how to guard yourself." She unsheathed it, looking over the bastard sword carefully. There was a small spattering of rust along the hilt and the iron wasn't pretty to look at, but it would serve for now. "Does the weight feel all right?"</p><p>"I don't have much of a choice." There was a belt with it, but as she tried to wrap it around her waist, it fell to the ground, broken from being too long in the elements.</p><p>"Have mine." Longclaw could be strapped to his back and he would manage. She needed the sword at her side. He hesitated, but after a quick dip of her head, he moved beside her. It was a simple thing to strap the sword to the belt, but it was another to put it around her waist. Much to his surprise, she let him, allowing him to kneel at her side, his eyes close to her belly.</p><p>"Thank you."</p><p>He let out the breath he had been holding before getting back to his feet, already searching for Ghost's trail. "We need to keep moving."</p><p>"Where are we going, Jon Snow?"</p><p>"We will have to pass between Torrehn's Square and Cerwyn, but after that, we'll be in the Barrowlands and near Moat Cailin. If we're lucky, we can find a skiff to use to cross Fever River instead, otherwise we have to pass through Moat Cailin."</p><p>"Beyond that?"</p><p>"The Neck and Greywater Watch. My fa- Lord Stark's man still lives there, Howland Reed. We can trust him."</p><p>"How can you be sure?"</p><p>He gave her a sheepish grin, "The Children showed me."</p><p>"Showed you?"</p><p>"You never looked in the flames with the Priestesses?"</p><p>"I didn't give them the opportunity. I came without them knowing or their help."</p><p>It was like her, preferring her own way than to be the puppet of others. "Howland Reed hasn't been involved in any of the wars since Robert's Rebellion. I only saw him once or twice when I was a boy. After Robb died, he never left his hold. The Crannogmen supposedly have a connection to the Children and Lord Reed's son was a greenseer."</p><p>"It's him we are going to see?"</p><p>"No, the boy is dead, I think. We're only stopping in the Neck for his help, after that, we move to the Isle of Faces."</p><p>She at least knew the name and reputation, stopping in her tracks as she frowned at him. "You put a lot of trust in the Children. They are sending us to their sacred island of Weirwood trees?"</p><p>"The Great Other- I don't know enough about him, but I know he's connected now to some of the magic that the Children possess. Weirwood trees can be used by him, but the Isle is special and remote. There's magic there that he hasn't been able to touch yet. It's the only place we'll be able to plan and camp. We need armies still and men. They gave their blessing for us to use it, but all else is for us to see to. This is as far as their help extends."</p><p>That seemed to be enough to satisfy her, as she started following him again. "I can send word to Arya from Greywater Watch. She won't be in time to meet us at the Isle of Faces, but she will know where to send my army."</p><p>"Arya-" his throat went dry. It was another gut punch, stopping both his feet and his heart.</p><p>Daenerys moved ahead, "She's in Volantis." She was quick to recount the news of Arya's journey, the state she had been when she arrived and her urging for Daenerys to find him. She didn't hold back, even from the more horrific aspects, perhaps well aware that Jon would probe and question, never fully satisfied, not when it came to Arya. Somewhere in the telling, his feet had started to move again, close at Dany's heels.</p><p>"But she was well when you left? She fully recovered?"</p><p>"She did."</p><p>"What- How-"</p><p>"Jon, she was fine, truly. If it will ease your mind, you could send her a message as well, but she'll say the same to you. She's going to sail when the time is right."</p><p>"What's for her in Volantis?" Daenerys didn't answer. "Seven Hells, the last I saw her was on the dock of King's Landing. She said she wanted to see what was west of Westeros."</p><p>"That had to be his doing. I never received much of an education, but I heard the sailor stories about what was west of the Iron Islands. A lord's children must have, either from a nurse or someone else. You had an Ironborn in your father's care."</p><p>"It seemed strange at the time. Arya was more interested in Winterfell when she was younger. The servants used to call her 'Arya Underfoot' because she followed her father everywhere. She sat in on his meetings with the staff and he showed her how to manage the accounts. That was more Arya's interest, but I thought that what she went through- I thought that might have changed her."</p><p>"She gave a few of my staff a glimpse of the Seven Hells. The nurse let the milk curdle because she fell asleep in the kitchen. Arya nearly chased her out of the villa, swinging at her with a broom." Her face glowed against the patches of shadows crawling over her skin.</p><p>"She could knock down boys twice her size, even when she was small. I think once when she was wrestling with Bran, she managed to flip him over her shoulder." Was there a part of him that remembered that?</p><p>Dany's eyes were on him, frantic and searching his expression. He looked back at her in confusion. "What?"</p><p>"I...nothing, never mind."</p><p>As the night continued to pass, he replayed the conversation in his mind, feeling he had missed something important, but unable to find it. Everything else paled in comparison to Arya and the news that she was alive.</p><p>***</p><p>It was near noon when Jon started to stir, Ghost's low growl pulling him from his sleep. They had managed to find a hunter's shack at the edge of the forest. Cerwyn was only a few leagues away and Jon thought it better to pass that area at the height of twilight. He had pushed Daenerys to take the shack to sleep in while he dozed outside. There was no Weirwood tree for them, but necessity beat practicality this time. There was Ghost and Jon put his trust in his direwolf being alert...</p><p>...trust that paid off. His eyes darted open and his hand went to Longclaw's pommel. With the fog of sleep being lifted, he could hear horses nearing them and felt the same humming presence that he had when the Night's Watchmen attacked. "<em>Dany!</em>" Her name was a quick hiss against the rising wind.</p><p>She was out in an instant, her blade drawn as well. They had managed some practice, enough that she was holding it correctly and could parry some of his attacks, but his paranoia at frightening her was hard to put aside. She didn't flinch at the sight of steel anymore, but he feared seeing it all the same.</p><p>Two riders appeared in the woods, one holding a banner of House Tallhart and the other with the sigil of House Stark on his shield. The sun was at their backs, masking their features and ages. Armor made it difficult for Jon to gauge how burly or strong they might be, meaning Daenerys could be outmatched if they attacked at random.</p><p>"I don't know them," he murmured to her.</p><p>"I thought you said that doesn't matter anymore?"</p><p>The riders didn't dismount, instead staring down at them like tormenting shadows. The banner whipped in the wind, the only sound in the forest, save for Jon's heavy breath and Dany's skittering heartbeat. He felt her fall into her fighting stance next to him, prepared to face them shoulder to shoulder with Jon.</p><p>The banner was dropped to the ground as the rider drew his sword, singing steel echoed off of the trees, louder and more imposing than Jon expected. As the men jumped from their horses, frenzied gallops came from ahead. The men didn't turn or look, their eyes were fixed on Dany. Suddenly, an arrow pierced the neck of the man on the left. Blood splattered and he fell face forward, his arms crushed under his weight. Jon barely had time to look up as the galloping grew louder. It was a sizeable party, four lanky soldiers with a wiry figure at the front. Quick arms tossed a net over the man who once held the banner, and as the horse circled around him, the lithe intruder gutted him in the back with a trident.</p><p>It was a woman with a mop of curly hair. She was off her mount in an instant, her men following suit as she collected her trident and net. "Jon Snow?"</p><p>"Who sent you?" It was all he could muster before suddenly recognizing the sigil on her armor. Relief flooded him so quickly that he dropped Longclaw at his side, his hands weak and trembling.</p><p>"I was sent to meet you. I'm Meera of House Reed."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Greywater Watch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Meera leads Daenerys and Jon to Greywater Watch. Uncomfortable truths must be given voice, no matter the cost or the path it leads them down. Every reconciliation has its share of pains...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter Seven</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p><em>"To go north, you must journey south, to reach the west you must go east. To go forward you must go back and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow."</em> - Quaith (A Clash of Kings)</p>
  <p><em>"We live closer to the green in our bogs and crannogs, and we remember. Earth and water, soil and stone, oaks and elms and willows, they were here before us all and will still remain when we are gone."</em> - Jojen Reed (A Dance with Dragons)</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>Jon had explained to Daenerys that the Crannomen were seen as different by the rest of the Northerners, as well as Westeros. While she had never met one before, she didn't see very much about them that warranted scorn or mockery. The men that Meera had brought with her were tall and stalk thin, but they were wiry and quick. Each time they spied a raven or animal that behaved strangely, they notched an arrow and sent it loose, felling the beast cleanly. Soon enough, Meera had a collection of ravens bound by their feet, tied to her belt. The men were alert and always watchful. While they seemed friendly enough, they kept their focus on the journey ahead and the task at hand. Whatever orders Meera gave them, they obeyed without question or objection, they were utterly loyal.</p><p>Meera herself was no stranger than others Dany had met. She was smaller, but serious and quiet. When they stopped for brief rests, she kept watch, counting the minutes until they should move. She kept a strict pace for them, only allowing them to stop for an hour. If they wanted to eat, it was rations or snow. If they needed to sleep, it was in the saddle. She would not budge from that, determined to reach Fever River and the waiting skiff. From there, it was a grueling trudge through the swamps, which seemed to twist and turn, yet every tree and bog looked the same. If the Crannogmen weren't with them, it seemed unlikely that Dany and Jon would have found their way through it. He seemed as disoriented as she was, gladly relying on Meera's advice and direction.</p><p>The ravens seemed to anger Meera. She targeted them specifically, which Daenerys thought was simple prudence at first. But when rations were low, Meera seemed more inclined to eat roots and berries, rather than the raven meat at hand. Once they were out of the swamps and in Greywater Watch, she had pulled away from the others, plucking the feathers from the ravens and added them to a cloak that she had clearly made. She had let the guests retire into the keep, washing off the mud and weeds they had used as camouflage, content to leave hers on until nightfall. Clean and dry, Daenerys sought her out, curious to know more of her.</p><p>Scenery passed over the walls slowly. Greywater Watch rested on a man made island and could be moved and steered, as if it were a ship. Once the gate was sealed, the order was given for them to move to another location in the crannog and further down the Neck. "No one has been able to conquer us, not even the Stark Kings," a guard had told Daenerys proudly. "The only way we joined their kingdom was when King Rickard killed the Marsh King and married his daughter. The swamps can't be navigated by outsiders, not even the Great Other."</p><p>These were proud people, even if other Northerners looked down on them. They didn't eat frogs, as was rumored, and there was no sign that they could breathe swamp water. There were elements about them that were close to the Dothraki. Their ease with their culture, the use of their surroundings and how content they were to live in the swamps and under its open sky. They were friendly as well, willing to teach their ways, even during the difficult and treacherous journey, the men had explained the use of camouflage and the surrounding terrain.</p><p>Meera was less friendly. She didn't bother to look up as Dany approached, only acknowledging her with a quick: "Jon Snow is meeting with a greenseer. You won't see him until tomorrow."</p><p>"Is it a message from the Children?" Daenerys hoped to catch the girl's eye, to at least smile reassuringly in an effort to offer some warmth, but she was like stone.</p><p>"No. If he wants you to know, he'll tell you later."</p><p>Daenerys pursed her lips, searching for something to say, unwilling to let the conversation go. "I was told that the Great Other is a threat, but he seems unable to touch you here."</p><p>Meera struck her dagger in the ground, her round face pale and drawn. For a moment, she seemed so much older, wizened and worn by years and trials. The subject was a sore one. "He just taunts us on the outskirts."</p><p>The raven feathers and her response said more than enough. "Jon said your father was friends with Eddard Stark. Did you ever visit Winterfell?"</p><p>"My brother and I were sent North to find Bran and take him to the Three Eyed Raven."</p><p>A stone formed in her stomach, dragging it down and leaving her sick. "I didn't see your brother among the men?"</p><p>"He's dead."</p><p>It was like she was tripping over the stones in the swamp again, hidden beneath the waters and impossible to see. Meera was a road that was difficult to traverse and every step seemed to be the wrong one. "I'm sorry."</p><p>"He died for Bran, to help him. So did Summer and Hodor. I knew there was something wrong with him when we returned to Winterfell, but I didn't know what until I told my father." She twirled a raven feather between her fingers, the black strands turning blue against the light. "I remember in the cave, Bran practiced his greenseeing while the Three Eyed Raven was asleep. Something happened in the vision, the Night King touched him somehow. After that, he and the Three Eyed Raven traveled somewhere through the Weirwood. I don't know what they did or how they did it, but Bran wasn't the same in the end. He was corrupted."</p><p>It was the most direct answer she was given about Bran and this threat. A mark left by the Night King. It was a drop of poison in the wine. The entire transformation was corrupted, killing whatever chance he had of becoming the Three Eyed Raven.</p><p>"You traveled back to Winterfell with him, you knew him. How has he not targeted you since then?"</p><p>Meera pulled a pendant from her clothes. There were sigils on some sort of root (if Dany had to guess, it was a Weirwood's) bound into a knot. "My father went to Oldtown when he heard about Bran. He found this and gave it to me. It's supposed to possess the old magic, the same that kept the White Walkers from going south of the Wall."</p><p>"That's fortunate."</p><p>They sat in silence for a time, Meera focused on her cloak's feathered neckline and Daenerys watched the people pass. It was almost as if the outside world hadn't touched those within these walls. While there were signs of discord and chaos in the North, the Crannogmen existed in their own peace and solidarity. Being separate from the lords, both in location and standing, had its advantages for them and they apparently reveled in those differences. She envied the calm of this place. It was almost as if they weren't disturbed by the events, despite clearly preparing to fight against it. There were a number of weapons stockpiled in the yard and soldiers were training, but the atmosphere was far different than Winterfell before the Long Night. There was no despair, no stress or feeling of being hurried. They had been preparing long before Daenerys had even been revived, perhaps before the Night King traveled south of the Wall.</p><p>"My men are your men," Meera said simply, sensing Dany's unease. "We'll be traveling with you to the Isle of Faces. You're going to want us prepared and ready for what's waiting. The further south we go, the stronger he is."</p><p>"Was he behind what happened in the North?"</p><p>"The Lords have always wanted power before he was here. Bran controls Sansa and keeps her vigilant for threats to his power. She doesn't notice the fighting of the Lords." For the first time, Meera looked up at Daenerys. It was little surprise to see her eyes were brown as the mud surrounding the swamps, but there was depth in them and wisdom that Dany knew came from adversity. "They're all skinchangers, not just Bran and Jon. The girls were too, but I don't know how strong. My father said he sensed it in them when he last saw them and heard that they had direwolves."</p><p>Dany shivered. The wind had apparently picked up since they arrived, drifting the keep further through the swamp as the tide changed. "Is that what the greenseer is speaking to Jon about?"</p><p>"As I said, you'll have to ask him."</p><p>She was hitting a wall again. Much like with Arya, it was sometimes better to leave someone stubborn and strong to their thoughts. As Dany got to her feet though, Meera grabbed her hand and pressed something to her palm. "You can't go without protection anymore. When we go south, he will target you first."</p><p>Dany opened her hand to see the knotted Weirwood root pendant. "What about you? Your father gave this to you."</p><p>Meera's lips spread, a wry and knowing grin on her face. "I'm not afraid of him."</p><p>"But-"</p><p>"I know what he'll do to me if he has the chance, but I'm not the one he's been obsessing over. This way, his plans are frustrated and I just helped make him angry. It's what he deserves." How many Reeds would die for the Starks? It seemed that this family had been shouldering their burdens for so long, if it was true that Howland Reed was there when Jon was born. Being a piece in someone else's game couldn't have been easy to stomach, especially if it cost as much as it seemed to for Meera and her brother. Having some sort of revenge, any revenge, would be enough to make anyone smile.</p><p>Dany's fingers closed over the pendant, accepting the price that Meera was willing to pay. "Your father must be proud of you."</p><p>Meera chuckled beneath her breath, returning to her earlier work. This one, at least, seemed genuine and warm.</p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>At first light, Daenerys sent a raven to Arya with word of where they were to meet. There was no note for her, not that she had been expecting one. Without a letter, Daenerys could only hope that Arya had managed to find the remnants of her army. Grey Worm might not want to return to the fighting, after being conditioned for that life for so long. Her Dothraki might be more willing, so long as they had no further fears of crossing the Narrow Sea. But their trust would be difficult to claim and they were unlikely to believe she was alive. It was left for Arya to manage, perhaps too great a burden for the girl. She wanted to ask Jon's opinion on this, but worrying him about Arya seemed a poor decision. There was enough they had plan and fret over, and much to her surprise, she didn't want to overburden him, not if it meant that he could be hurt.</p><p>He was waiting for her in the courtyard. He tossed a tourney sword at her, which she managed to catch. The first few times, it had landed at her feet, but with the practice they had managed during the journey, she had gotten stronger. He didn't wait for her to fall into position before he was attacking, coming at her more aggressively than before. Usually he was more calculated and precise, but she guessed that he was hoping to catch her off balance and unprepared. The blades met and Daenerys pushed him backwards, pointing her sword at his throat. "You stopped going easy on me."</p><p>"You yelled at me enough for me to get it through my head."</p><p>She smiled softly. There had been a number of times that she lectured him about holding back, lecturing him that she would never learn unless he gave his full strength. It might mean bruises, it might mean cuts, but it would keep her alive. "I thought I needed to yell at least three more times?"</p><p>"Twice was plenty."</p><p>He lunged, pushing her on the back foot. She was quick to twirl out of his range. "Does that mean you won't whinge about knocking me down?"</p><p>"I didn't whinge-"</p><p>"You whinged, Jon Snow."</p><p>"I don't want to do to you what I had to do to the others I trained?"</p><p>"What did you do? Bloody them?"</p><p>"I broke Grenn's nose and sprained Pyp's wrist."</p><p>She stopped, surprised to know how aggressive he could be. "You didn't..."</p><p>He grinned at her, "I told Grenn it was an improvement." He lunged again, arcing his blade at her, which she managed to catch before her sword fell from her grasp. He was still stronger than her. "That was before we took our vows."</p><p>It was strange. In all the time they knew each other, she had never heard these stories before. She could excuse it and say they had other things to discuss, but that was no different now. It seemed that only after death did she truly have a chance to know Jon Snow. "Are these memories the reason you're in better spirits today? The past few weeks, you carried about your own winter storm. I thought I would freeze before we reached the Neck."</p><p>He turned his blade away from her and stood at ease, halting the lesson for a moment. He pulled something from his pocket, a ceramic jar, small enough that it would fit in his hand. "The greenseer gave it to me. It's for Arya...and Sansa."</p><p>Dany frowned, her throat constricting at the mention of his older sister. She hadn't forgotten the harsh words or cruel smiles the girl had given her, nor the ease she seemed to have at spreading discord. Arya had been difficult to forgive, but it seemed impossible with Sansa. "She's under Bran's control."</p><p>"I know, but this is the way to free her." He was quick to continue before Dany could object. "We can't leave her as she is. Bran has control from the south and he controls the North through her. He has us in a pincer attack from this position. If we free Sansa, we don't have to worry about a Northern army at our backs. We can focus our attention on King's Landing."</p><p>That was slightly easier to stomach, strategy rather than protests of family. Those words would have summoned the shadows of their arguments from Winterfell, the night she begged him to keep his paternity a secret. She had no desire to look at the past. If she looked back, she would be lost, as would he. Lost to her. "How then are you suppose to free her? She is in Winterfell, isn't she? She will be guarded and Bran will know if we approach."</p><p>"There are tunnels into Winterfell through the crypts. I couldn't approach with a large army, but I might be able to slip in without notice."</p><p>The blade dropped from Dany's grip, that sinking feeling returning to her stomach. "You have this well planned. That means you already knew when you'd leave." His look was full of apology, but no denial. He was thinking of separating from her. "We are stronger together, Jon. If Bran means to divide us, we shouldn't give him what he wants."</p><p>"A small party will be noticed. If it's one person-"</p><p>"Haven't you had enough of these suicide missions? How many times are you going to leave me to wait and watch for you? If you insist on doing this, then I'm coming with you, Jon Snow."</p><p>"You need to lead the men to the Isle of Faces. If something happens-"</p><p>"You were planning to leave before then?! Are you mad?  We should set up camp in the Isle of Faces, see if there is something waiting for us and stake our surroundings. Going now means everything is in disorder!"</p><p>"We don't have time to waste and as much as I'd rather face Bran alone, I need both Sansa and Arya. What we are, we can use it in the fight."</p><p>"Then we will help her, but not before the Isle of Faces, Jon. You said yourself it is sacred there. You might find something you need, something that can help-"</p><p>"I have what I need. If I go south, it will take longer to travel back to Winterfell. It's not as if I can travel by dragon. This is the best plan, Dany."</p><p>She was struggling and angry. He had always been insistent about doing things his way and with his own plans, hard headed as always. Little wonder that he was prepared to go off on his own and likely be killed. How many times had that nearly happened for him? One plunge in the ice wasn't enough for him, he was going to step into an unkindness of ravens or a murder of crows. He wouldn't do this if he knew that he was needed by others. He wouldn't do this if he knew what he was risking and who he might hurt. He wouldn't-</p><p>"So you mean to go and get yourself killed? You will leave your children without a father, Jon Snow!" The words were out of her before she could think better of it.</p><p>His emotions shifted too quickly for her to read each one. She had witnessed confusion, which quickly changed to disbelief and then shifted to astonishment and bled in to anger. Pieces were falling to place in his mind, things he had overlooked or hadn't noticed in the course of their conversation. Despite herself and her frustration, Daenerys felt herself shrink back slightly, suddenly the naughty child who was caught in the act of rebellion. She had seen him upset before, but she had never seen this measure of betrayal in his eyes or the dark rage that seemed to fall from him in waves. If she knew him less, she might think that he was a danger to her, no different than that day, but this anger directed at her wasn't murderous...it was hurt.</p><p>"When?" His voice was short, quiet and pregnant with emotion.</p><p>"After I was resurrected. I didn't know before then." She wanted to promise that, to swear, if only it took away some of the sting.</p><p>"You kept this from me all of this time?"</p><p>"Jon-" she reached for his arm but he stepped away, turning his back to her as he struggled to catch his breath. "I was afraid of you, I didn't know if I could trust you. After what happened-how do you even tell someone something like this?"</p><p>"Apparently in an argument to get your way!"</p><p>She took a step towards him, but he was already moving, racing back to the keep without another word. Through the afternoon and the night, Daenerys had to keep company with the memory of his features and the hurt that seemed more accusatory than his words.</p><p>When she woke the next morning, word was already spread through Greywater Watch, along with deep worry. Jon had left for Winterfell during the night with no word on when he would return...</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>To be continued</strong>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Interlude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A Jonerys interlude</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, so this is obviously long overdue, but I had a lot to think of. One of the pleasures of writing this fanfic (this being my first major attempt) was seeing the reactions people had to the characters. I've always felt this fandom had a good community with strong emotions for the characters and their journeys. It's the same connection I have, where these are more than just stories, but people you love deeply. That's why it was really amazing to see the response to the last chapter and various interpretations about the fight that Jon and Dany had. You guys really had deep reactions and it was amazing to see you argue for one side or the other. It was enough to leave me thinking about things and I realized that my current outline didn't work.</p><p>I needed an interlude between Greywater Watch and Winterfell, a moment where we can get a glimpse inside Jon's mind. This, I hope (if I've done it right), isn't so much just seeing Jon's side, but understanding the relationship at the same time as everything becomes more clear to him. Because the honest truth is, Jon and Dany never had the chance to be a couple and they likely never were going to have that chance. Their lives and destinies are so different and remarkable, that sort of leaves them stumbling in their private lives. Couples have misunderstandings and fight, but how does that work when you have a war to fight for humanity at the same time?</p><p>It becomes less about who is right or wrong and how they balance this with everything else. Thankfully, they love each other and intuitively know each other. That gap just needs to be crossed with patience and understanding, something that apparently Jon can find when he has a bit of a breather.</p><p>Obviously this a shorter chapter than the others. The next one should be longer.</p><p>Hopefully the chapters going forward will get as good a response as the last one. Thank you so much for sticking with this story and having patience for my updates. Your comments have all been so wonderful. I'm excited to lead you further into this story.</p><p>Thanks!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter 8</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Somewhere between the Neck and Moat Cailan, he started to regret his actions. He left without giving Dany any warning and any idea of when or if he'd return. The action had been selfish, brought on by his own bullheaded temper and pure stubbornness. Between what they were facing, what they needed to do and what he felt, he betrayed those obligations for something so...impetuous.</p><p>During the long nights, as the snow fell and sleep refused to encase him, he had time to reflect and think. This was typical for them in a way. Despite the ways they connected, they were too alike and that could sometimes lead to fiery clashes, their own Dance of Dragons. It certainly illuminated a glaring truth to Jon. While Bran might have manipulated them and forced them to act or speak in ways that went against who they were, there was still a bridge for them to build regarding their communication. He was too hard headed and she could be too temperamental. Ice and fire were stronger if there was a balance, but apparently they hadn't found that even ground yet. There was never a chance for that, not with the War for the Dawn, his family and his birth. They barely had a chance to stretch their wings as lovers before it all came crashing down.</p><p>Staring into the darkness, speckled with the shadows of snowflakes falling around him, Jon thought back to his time among the Freefolk and the woman that he hadn't considered for some time. He clashed with Ygritte as well and for similar reasons. He was drawn to fiery women, women that could knock sense in his head when he refused to see it. He had a fixed idea of who the Freefolk were until Ygritte challenged him and practically forced him to see her people from her point of view.</p><p>Maybe he should try that again? Dany wasn't wrong to fear him, he even feared himself and what he did that day. It was why he held back, why he tried not to touch her or move too close or quickly. He knew his crimes and regretted them deeply. Why should she trust him with news like that? What had he really done to earn it?</p><p>And now he had gone and mucked it up again.</p><p>Jon let out a groan, rubbing his calloused hands over his eyes as he fell back against his furs. Sleep tugged at his body, but he couldn't find the strength or courage to give himself over to it.</p><p>He loved her. That had never gone away, only been overpowered by guilt and shame. This journey though served as a sharp reminder how powerful his feelings were for her. There was the hope as well that she might feel the same, up until their argument. Now, he didn't know what she thought.</p><p>Children. There was a piece of himself out there, his blood and his family, the only thing he ever wanted but barred himself from imagining. He cowered at the force of this truth, the sharp reality that it hadn't been one life he had taken, but three. He couldn't see his hands in the dark, but there were moments that he thought he could smell blood on his skin. It was enough to make him sick, his stomach twisting into sharp knots.</p><p>He loved her and wanted her and likely lost her for good.</p><p>What did it matter if it was Bran that moved his hand and drove the dagger home? It was still his hand, his body and blood.</p><p>If he had the chance to talk to her, to fully listen this time to what she had to say...all of this might make sense to him. Instead, he could only rely on what he knew of her and see the matter through her eyes. He already carried the shame of that day, so he had to understand why no child should be near that. How could he even explain to them what he did, why it happened and how sorry he was? They would hate him, as she likely hated him. They would fear him as well, as she had feared him.</p><p>The sound of a horse came from the distance, nearly smothered by the shrieking wind and rattling branches. If it was one of Bran's guards, he had no energy to fight, only to let the Gods decide what to make of him.</p><p>"Jon?" It was Meera.</p><p>"How did you know I was camped here?" If she could find him easily, so could Bran.</p><p>"Daenerys guessed the route you would take. It's only a matter of estimating how long you'd travel during the day. It was hard enough to get you moving towards the Neck, I knew you'd stop closer to our border than beyond it."</p><p>"Is that your way of saying I'm lazy?"</p><p>"Of course, but we should make double time when the storm passes."</p><p>"Why are you here?"</p><p>"She sent me." There was a potent pause, challenging him to object to this. There was no reply though, no argument from him, only a sharp relief. It meant something, even if he couldn't say what. "To make sure you don't get yourself killed."</p><p>Meera slid off her horse, getting a better glimpse of him. She didn't need to say it, he knew he looked like he crawled out of the Seven Hells. "You didn't even bring your wolf."</p><p>"No." Despite his anger, he left Ghost behind for her. "She might need him."</p><p>"You both are so bloody stupid."</p><p>"Both? I thought I was the only one being an idiot."</p><p>"You think she doesn't make mistakes? Whatever you fought about, it could have been done earlier or later, not now. Bran knows you both are together and he knows an army is gathering. Maybe if she waited or if you waited to get up your asses, we might have a better chance."</p><p>He huffed, a bit indignant at being called out so brazenly. "We can't help how some things come out."</p><p>"No? Well you better learn to help it. We're at war with an omnipotent force. This isn't the time to talk about who is wrong and who isn't. You want to sort all that out? Find a way to survive until tomorrow."</p><p>She was direct like Arya, enough that it somewhat softened the blow to his ego. He could imagine her traveling with the Bran he knew, challenging him and his stubbornness. No different than how Ygritte had been for him. "We never really- we didn't have the chance to have our own conflict." He stumbled, scrambling to explain something so personal to someone he barely knew. It didn't seem to bother her though, she simply shrugged and toyed with her trident.</p><p>"What do you want? For everything to stop so you can have conflicts like every other couple? You're leaders, you don't get the luxury of a private life and private conflicts. If you fight, you need to stuff it down and figure out how to manage an army at the same time. Storming off to get killed means your army gets killed. This army you're leading are my father's men, my people. I've seen enough people I care about die because of selfish Starks, don't you add to it."</p><p>"All right then, what am I supposed to do about this?"</p><p>"How in the Seven Hells should I know? The only boy I thought anything about turned into an Undead god." She fished in her pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. Unfolding it for him, he could see the outline of a silver curl, small enough to fit around his picky finger and as delicate as silk. "I don't even know what she meant by sending this, but apparently you're supposed to know."</p><p>Did he? She had enough trust in him to let him guess her message and apparently she expected him to manage. Know nothing Jon Snow, hard headed kinslayer and Northern Fool was granted the opportunity to read her thoughts and connect once more in a way he assumed was lost. She was far more gracious than he had a right to...</p><p>...but it was never Dany's way to hold a grudge for long towards someone she loved. She forgave Jorah, she forgave Tyrion repeatedly, and she forgave him. Her love was the strongest ember and it continually sparked new flames, spreading until it encompassed so many. She cared and she protected, he was not exempt from that, even if he had committed an unspeakable crime.</p><p>He pulled his gloves from his hand, reaching for the curl and tying it around his pinkie finger. All he needed was to run his thumb along the thin strands and he felt that she was next to him, no different than that night they first shared together. More than the act, he remembered holding her as they both started to drift to sleep, stroking her long hair and marveling at how soft she truly was. Heart, body and hair, everything about her was delicate. He had it again, that revelation and sensation.</p><p>"She's making sure that we're still together, no matter where I go." Not exactly a love declaration, but Meera was right, this wasn't the time to sort that out, even if it was the most pressing on their heart. She was a queen and he was a general, those they lead should come first. She understood that and she likely understood that longer than he did, having ruled before he was elected to command. It didn't change that they were both feeling their way through this, but at least they were both lost in the dark together. "She's thinking about the greater good." And him. She could have sent anything else to connect them, but she chose this. It wasn't an apology, but given how Dany was, she wasn't about to expect one in return.</p><p>She wanted him to move forward. "She's supporting whatever decision I make."</p><p>"You got all that from a lock of hair?"</p><p>"Daenerys is sentimental, but she's more strategic. If she sends a message like this, it's got more than one meaning."</p><p>"What do you want to do then, Snow? Should we turn back?"</p><p>He twisted the curl idly, fidgeting with it as though it were a ring. Emotionally, he wanted to go back and rejoin Dany, but strategically, it wasn't wise. She hadn't wanted him to leave, but now that he was going, even she would admit that he had to stay with his plan. It would be no different than marching on a city then turning back. "If we go back, Bran has time to reinforce Winterfell against attack and get further hold of Sansa. Right now, he might be caught off guard enough, there's a chance of reaching her. I was stupid to leave, but there's no choice now. I can only go with the plan that I have."</p><p>Meera nodded, "You still have that paste my father's seer gave you?"</p><p>"I do."</p><p>"It's not enough to just stick it in her food. She has to willingly take it."</p><p>"I know."</p><p>"So how are you going to manage that? You can't do what your brother did and control her."</p><p>"I can break the hold long enough, I think."</p><p>"Bloody optimist." She pulled at her horse, fiddling with something attached to the saddle. It was only when he heard the rattle of the cage that he knew what she was doing. Meera seemed to sense his misgivings. "There are these little runes attached to the ravens my father uses. It keeps them from being inhabited." She brought out the bird for Jon to inspect, letting him see the distinctive swirl that he had come to recognize from the Children and the cave. "You only get one chance to send a message back to her. After tonight, she's marching to the Isle of Faces. Better make it a good one."</p><p>There was only one reply to give and only one she'd expect. The next morning, a confused maester presented Daenerys with a rolled handkerchief, worn from stormy weather and frayed at the ends. Inside, twisted into a perfect ring was a curl of hair. Black like her daughter's, black like a Stark's.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This story is my attempt to marry the two different threats created by the show and the books. Without going to far into spoilery details, there was something lacking with the White Walkers and the magic surrounding them. Given how easily they were dismissed in the show, it seemed like an oversight and then an opportunity for the story to find its roots again. This is what I hope to do with this ongoing fiction.</p><p>Obviously there will be connections to the books. Some of the characters will resemble more of their book counterparts than the show. Some terms will be kept from the show, for example: Three Eyed Raven, but other concepts will be brought in (like Jon being a warg).</p><p>Because a Song of Ice and Fire is about balance, that is what I hope you'll find in this story. Not only a balance of magic, but a balance in the characters, finding some measure of humanity in those that lost it in the show and some animosity in those that were too saintly. Hopefully the conflicts will be entertaining and more real than what we were given.</p><p>Of course, I don't own the characters. These are the property of George R. R. Martin. I'm merely playing with his dolls.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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